The Haunting
by glowsticks03
Summary: Edward feels a strange pull when he visits his brother Emmetts' new house on a whim. Little does he know, the house has been expecting him.. AH, AU Story is completed, am just adding so many chapters a day. I have this written til the very end, so no worries about it not updating!
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Alright boys and gals. This is a story I've had written down on paper for the longest time. It's been my gem and something that I haven't want to share, until now. I once wrote this on a whim when I went through a paranormal phase while watching Ghost Adventures and The Dead files. This will be eventual E/B but will contain no smut; maybe some outtakes? Who knows. This story is complete along with a few more. This is a mini-series, if you will. You'll understand ;) This is the gang like you've never seen them before. Enjoy and review!

And p.s., I don't own Twilight or any of its' characters!

"Emmett, your house isn't haunted," said Edward for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You haven't been here – I've seen things you wouldn't believe. And Alice

believes me."

"Who the hell is Alice?"

"She's uh . . . a girl I met at Port Angeles. She has a shop there, she runs this sort of

New Age thing, and. . ."

Emmett's voice trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say "psychic," or he knew

Edward would just start laughing and hang up the phone. He didn't get it – this was real.

And even if it was just to keep him company, he wanted Edward to see the place for

himself. Edward sighed.

"Okay, fine," he said. "But just for the one night, that's it. I have to get home;

Bella's waiting for me."

"I know, I know. Just the one night. I just want you to see it, okay?"

"I'll come see it." Edward was getting exasperated. "Relax – you've only been

there a week."

A week that was suppose to be meant for relaxation and to get away from it all.

Emmett, along with his brothers; Edward and Carlisle, had been to a conference in

New York to learn more about the new equipment they were going to buy for

their music shop.

Emmett had flown ahead of his brothers since they had a few lose ends they wanted to tie

Up before returning to the comforts of home.

He hadn't really put up much of an argument. It was on his way, after all, and it

wouldn't set him back that much. Besides, all of the stories Emmett had been telling about his

new Lake Crescent condo made him a little curious. It wasn't like the boy was new to

making up stories – even gruesome ones – to entertain himself, but he'd never been so

insistent about them before. He'd never expected anyone to really believe him, in other

words. And that made Edward worried. Emmett was either playing a highly elaborate practical

joke – which wasn't entirely unlikely – or he was having a practical joke played on _him_.

The house wasn't haunted – that was ridiculous. But, if it would make him feel better,

Edward didn't see any harm in stopping by to prove it to him in person.

Emmett hung up the phone and looked around the kitchen, waiting for something to

happen. His very first night there, he'd seen a glimpse of something white darting around

the doorframe, just as he was coming out of the pantry. At the time he'd written it off as a

trick of the light, or a figment of his imagination. But there were other things too. He'd

started having strange dreams – nightmares – the first night he'd spent in the condo. They

were just images – snatches of a longer story he didn't know – but they were always

somewhere inside the house. The most recent one involved a piece of white fabric draped

over the banister on the front stairwell: he saw the fabric, and then he saw a little red spot

in the center, growing and spreading over the white. Then he looked up, and saw red

dripping from the landing overhead. As he looked closer, he saw that the red was coming

off a hand, sticking out between two of the wooden posts supporting the banister. That

was it, but it had bothered him enough to make him reluctant to come out of his room the

following morning. There was nothing on the landing of course, but he always looked,

just to be sure. And then there was the girl in the mirror.

But for now, there was nothing in the kitchen either. So he stepped outside into

the living room and glanced into the oval mirror above the mantle place. There was the

now-familiar image of the dead girl, staring at him with dark eyes, arms crossed sternly

over her chest. Her skin was dull grey, like old clay, and just above the neckline of her

tank top were a couple of bloodless incisions – two of thirty-seven stab wounds, or so she

had told him.

"Hi Rose," he murmured wearily.

"You didn't tell him about me," she said.

"He probably already thinks I'm going crazy – I don't want to make it worse."

The ghost rolled her eyes and huffed.

"He's going to find out anyway when he gets here," she said.

"Yeah," said Emmett, "About that, um. . . Would you mind just keeping out of the

way while he's here?"

"Why?"

"Because I don't . . . I don't want you to scare him."

"Well, what's he going to think if you start talking to me? He'll think you're

talking to yourself."

"At least let me talk to him first, okay? Before you do anything, just let me talk to

him so I can explain everything."

"Fine, but sometimes I don't have much control over this. I've told you that

before."

"I know, I know."

"I'll try not to bother him. I don't think I can go in the guest room anyway."

"Really? Why not?"

Rose shrugged.

"No mirrors."

"Oh. Right."

"You're still planning to help me, right?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting Alice at the library tomorrow. I'll see if I can find anything

in the papers."

"Okay." She sighed. "Thanks. I really do appreciate it."

Rose couldn't remember who'd killed her. Emmett had met her during his second

day at the condo, and somewhat reluctantly agreed to do some research for her. She said

that she didn't really want revenge – she just wanted to know what had happened,

because she hadn't thought she had any enemies. He didn't mind, really. It wasn't her he

was afraid of; there was something else in the house, he was sure of it. Rose wasn't

responsible for the images he saw in his sleep. She didn't send messages like that – if she

wanted to talk to him, she just popped up in one of the mirrors and started talking. He

could call her too, if he needed to. It took a few seconds to work sometimes, but she

always showed up. She wasn't the one that kept the light out. That was . . . something

else. Anyway, he could always ask Alice about it later.

The place was easier to find than Edward thought it would be. He pulled into the

little community and parked in the one of the visitor spaces in front of Emmett's condo. He

thought he saw him in the window upstairs, but he must have imagined it because the

next second Emmett opened the door and came out to meet him.

"Hey!" he said, coming down the steps, "Thanks for coming."

Edward gave him a quick hug and grabbed his bag from the backseat.

"No problem," he said. "I can't wait to see this ghost of yours."

"Don't make fun of me – I'm not making this up."

"I'm serious! I want to see some haunting. What exactly goes on in there

anyway?"

Emmett led the way into the guestroom upstairs, and he told Edward about the dreams

he'd been having. He didn't tell him about Rose – not yet – but he mentioned seeing

"something" in the mirror a few times. Edward was convinced it was just a trick of the

light, and told him so. That and Emmett's inventive imagination. Emmett sighed. There was just

no way to convince him until he saw for himself. But oh well – that was why he was

here. After Edward got settled they both went into the basement to unpack some boxes;

Emmett wasn't quite finished getting moved in yet.

"So, you still want to keep living here?" asked Edward, dragging a box of records

and CDs towards the couch in the center of the room. Emmett had decided that the basement

would be the game room/den, so they were setting up the record player and entertainment

center.

"Where do you want these?" asked Edward, flipping through the items in the box.

"Uh, over there. In the bottom shelf." Emmett pointed to a bookcase against the far

wall. "And yes, I'm still living here. Nothing's happened. Besides, I don't know what

else to do."

"You could move back in with Carlisle."

"Yeah, I guess so, but—"

"Hey, what the hell are you doing with this?!"

"Huh?"

Edward whipped out an album and brandished it in front of him.

"This is mine, you little bastard!"

"It is not! I don't know what you're talking about."

They argued for a few minutes more, but Edward eventually relented and

continued putting the albums on the shelf. Emmett told him about his meeting with Alice,

and Edward decided to just stay in the house and maybe walk to the oceanfront later.

"Go ahead," Edward said, walking back to the front door with his brother, "I can

find a way to entertain myself."

"You sure you don't want to come with me? I mean, I really shouldn't just leave

you here—"

"I'll be fine! I'm twenty-one years old – I think I can take care of myself now.

And I am your big brother."

"All right," laughed Emmett, "I'll see you later – sorry about this. I'm being a bad

host."

"No, don't worry about it. It's fine."

"Bye."

"See ya."

Emmett left, and Edward went back downstairs to finish going through the music box.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, every single record, CD and cassette tape was

scattered all over the floor. Even the ones he had put on the shelf already. Edward stared at

the mess, shuddered slightly, but then shook it off and began putting everything back in

its place.

Alice was small and sprite-like, with short, spikey dark hair, iridescent

green eyes and a face the exact shape of a small moon. She almost glowed in the dark,

especially under the dim lights of the newspaper archives in the library. Emmett glanced over

her shoulder and scanned the headline of the paper she was reading.

"Find anything yet?" he asked.

Alice shook her head.

"No," she said, her voice like the jingling of a tiny silver bell. "It would be so

much easier if we could just get some dates."

"It can't have been that far back. I don't think she's been there that long."

"How can you tell?"

"Just because of the way she talks, and her clothes. They're modern. She can only

have been there since . . . well, I guess the mid-70s at the earliest."

"Mm."

She was tuning him out, looking over the paper carefully.

Emmett sighed and grabbed a stack of papers, carrying them over to a table in the

corner. It didn't really matter if she heard him at the time or not; she was psychic. She

could figure out what he was thinking anyway. Still, it bothered him when she stopped

paying attention like that. He leafed through his stack of papers, scanning headlines and

obituaries, occasionally finding a young girl in the lines, but nothing definite.

"The problem is she's so normal-looking," he said.

Alice sat down next to him at the table.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You know – blonde hair, blue eyes, medium height – there's nothing that really

stands out about her. She could by any of these people."

"Rose is pretty popular for a girls' name."

"Yeah. . . But it's still just a first name."

Alice smiled and touched his arm.

"I have something to tell you," she said.

Emmett looked up. That was another thing that bothered him a little; she never

attempted to segue way their conversations. She just jumped subjects whenever she felt

like it.

"What?" he asked.

"Something is about to change in your house," she said.

"Something good?"

"I can't tell, but something important." Her shimmery eyes glowed like opals.

"Something exciting. And you should know, that house was haunted before Rose ever

lived there."

Emmett looked away, suddenly red in the face.

"That's another thing I've been meaning to ask you," he said. "I feel like there's

someone else there besides just her, and I don't know if they're friendly."

"Perhaps that's it."

"That's . . . what?"

"The second presence. It's coming out soon. Your dreams – they come from that

presence."

"Well. . . Do you think we should be looking for more than one death in here?"

"No, that won't help us. . . But speak with Rose. Ask her about the girl in the

white dress."

Emmett looked at her sharply.

"What girl? What are you talking about?"

Alice's excitement faltered. Her eyes softened and her head tilted to the side. It

was the face she made when she was about to explain something to him that she thought

he ought to know already.

"You've seen her, haven't you?" she asked. "In your dreams."

Emmett thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

"I don't think so."

Alice shrugged.

"Oh well. In any case, it couldn't hurt to ask. Keep an eye out for her."

"Is that the, uh, 'second presence' then?"

"I don't know. I guess you'll find out."

"Alice. . ."

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could come over one day and just have a look at the place? I

mean, I know you said I must have some sort of sixth sense, because of all the dreams,

but I still think you're a lot better at this kind of thing than I am."

Alice rolled her eyes.

"All right," she said. "But I can't make any promises. I read people better than

houses. That's why I can see what you see. But I'll try."

"Thanks."

During the drive home, Emmett remembered. He _had _dreamed about a girl in a white

dress. He'd just forgotten it. Now that he thought about it, he realized he'd dreamt about

her every single night. Just in passing – she was never an active part of the dreams, she

never spoke or even moved. She just watched him from the background. The white dress

was usually all he could see of her, and sometimes the red hair that grew all the way

to her feet, like a sheet of corn silk. Her face was always in shadow. He knew it wasn't

Rose – she had dark hair, and the only thing white she wore was the dirty, blood-caked

tank top. As he pulled into the driveway, he decided it was time to tell Edward the whole

story.

But Edward wasn't there when he got to the house. Emmett flipped a light on, even

though it was just past midday and the place was full of windows. It was always dark in

the condo. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone, dialed Edward's cell

number. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ed, it's me."

"Oh, hey. How'd it go with Alice?"

"Eh. Not as good as I wanted, but we found, um . . ."

"What?"

"Listen, I need to talk to you. There's some things I haven't told you about the

house yet."

Edward paused.

"Is something wrong?"

"No – well, not exactly. It's just, uh . . . I just need to talk to you."

"Okay. . ."

"Well, where are you right now?"

"I'm at the park. 64th Street."

"Okay. Wait – did you walk that whole way?"

Emmett had seen Edward's car out front when he walked in. Edward laughed.

"It's not that far," he said. "Besides, I felt like getting outside."

"Well, I'm driving. I'll see you in a little bit."

"Okay."

Emmett immediately went back to the front door, but when he got to the living room

something strange happened. He couldn't see the door. He knew it was there, but a thick

black shadow had descended into his path, blocking his vision. Emmett shook his head and

rubbed his eyes, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. His legs suddenly felt very heavy,

and it was difficult to move. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again; it

was getting hot. The rest of the room was going dark. He couldn't see the couch

anymore. The sunlight outside the windows was fading away. Somewhere in front of him

was an image, very faint inside the shadows: the skirt of a long white dress, and above it

a veil of red hair.

"Okay," he muttered to himself, "Okay, don't freak out."

He closed both fists and opened them, trying not to feel the cold sweat forming

inside his palms. He drew in a breath – hot air.

"All right," he said a little louder, "I don't want any trouble. I just want to go

through the door."

Behind the veil, something gleamed like tiny stars; white eyes. Emmett felt a crushing

weight around his head, as if a pair of giant hands was closing in on him. He staggered

and took another forced breath through the sweltering heat; he felt a bead of sweat roll

down his back.

"Please," he said, "I just want to leave for a little while."

The glittering eyes disappeared again.

"I'll be back," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

White and red melted back into the darkness, and the veil lifted . . . but only

slightly. Emmett ran for the door as soon as he could see it again. Bright sunlight hit him full

on the face when he came outside, blinding him momentarily so that he had to shield his

eyes. Then he got back in the car and drove to 64th street.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward stared at him incredulously. He was giving Emmett the look; the same look

he gave people when they asked something either really stupid or really intrusive,

and he was trying not to laugh or get offended. His face was mostly blank, but there was

a sharpness behind his deep green eyes that gave him away.

"Don't look at me like that!" said Emmett, "I'm serious."

Edward glanced away and flicked the ashes off his cigarette to take another drag.

They were sitting at one of the picnic tables in the park, and Emmett had just told him

everything he could remember about his haunted condo, including the episode at the door

just half an hour earlier.

"Well," said Edward, "You gotta realize how weird it sounds."

"Yeah, I know, but I swear I'm not making it up."

"What about the girl in the mirror?"

"Her name's Rose."

"Whatever. I know I haven't been here that long, but I definitely didn't see

anyone in the mirror."

"That's because I told her to leave you alone."

Edward raised his eyebrows.

"Look," said Emmett, "I'll introduce you when we get back. I'll prove it to you.

Haven't you noticed how dark it gets in there sometimes?"

Edward gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I guess," he muttered. "But I mean, it might just be the house is in a weird spot,

or—"

"No, that's not it! It's not that kind of dark. It's not natural."

Edward sighed.

"Do you want to leave?" asked Emmett.

"No. No, I don't want to leave, but. . ." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Emmett, you're starting to scare me a little."

Emmett looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not trying to scare you. I just don't know what to do.

Y'know? I've never had to deal with anything like this before."

Edward's expression softened.

"I know," he said. "I don't know what to do either. Can't you just leave?"

"No," said Emmett. "I mean, I guess I could, but I promised Rose I'd find some stuff

out for her."

A biker coasted out of the wooded path to the left of them and parked his bike at

the table next to theirs.

"That's weird that she can't remember who did it," said Edward. "If that's true,

anyway."

"I know. She said she didn't have any enemies, though. At least not anyone she

could think of. And personally, I don't think she's that hate-able. She seems nice, for a,

you know."

Edward laughed.

"How long ago did it happen?" he asked.

"I don't know. That's what we were trying to figure out earlier, actually. It must

have been pretty recent though, because she doesn't look like she's been there that long. I

mean, she doesn't look like she's from some other time period."

"How many times did you say was she stabbed?"

"Thirty-seven."

"And there was nothing in the newspapers?"

Emmett shook his head.

"If there was, we haven't found it yet," he said.

Suddenly the biker walked over.

"Are you guys talking about Rose Tanner?" he asked.

They looked up.

"Did you know her?" asked Emmett.

The biker shrugged and took his helmet off; he looked to be in his mid-twenties,

with dark hair and the beginnings of a mustache. He shoved his sweaty hair out of his

eyes.

"Not that well," he said, "But she worked at the movie theater on Windsor Road.

How do you know her? I haven't seen you around before."

"I just moved here. I think I'm living in her old condo."

"Ah. It's probably haunted." He laughed; Emmett and Edward exchanged a glance, but

they could tell he was only joking. Emmett introduced himself. The biker's name was

Bradley."

How long ago did . . . everything happen?" Emmett asked him.

"Uh. . . Not that long. Just a few years, I guess. What, they didn't mention it when

you bought the place?"

"No."

Bradley shrugged again.

"Probably bad for business. Anyway, it's too bad. I didn't hear about it until

weeks afterwards – the family hushed it up pretty good."

"Nothing in the papers or anything like that?"

"Nah. Well, just an obituary, but that was it. I think they were . . . I don't know,

embarrassed about it or something. Or ashamed – that's the word."

"Why? I mean, it's really sad and all, but—"

"Because that's just the way they were. In some ways I understand it – a family

like the Tanners, they're pretty high up in the social hierarchy. You can't have a suicide

listed on there anywhere – people start talking. Of course, people ended up talking about

it anyway."

"Wait – suicide?"

"Yeah."

"I thought she was murdered."

Again, Bradley shrugged.

"That's what I heard. But like I said, it was all hushed up, so I could be wrong."

"Huh."

"Well," Bradley strapped his helmet back on, "I'll see you around, I guess. Oh,

and welcome to the neighborhood!"

Emmett laughed.

"Thanks!"

And then he got back on his bike, and disappeared into the trees again.

The first thing Emmett did when they got back to the house was to introduce Rose

and Edward. Edward had dealt with awkward meetings before, but nothing like this. But

Emmett was right – she seemed nice, for a ghost. And Emmett said that as long as she was

around, the "other one" generally didn't show up, so he encouraged Edward to keep

talking to her while he went back to the library. It was only two hours to closing, and he

wanted to scour every newspaper from the past five years for the name Rose Tanner. He

also warned Edward not to mention the suicide – if Rose hadn't brought it up already,

whether it was true or not, there was probably a good reason for it, and Emmett didn't want

more than one pissed-off spirit in the house at once. Edward was inclined to agree.

So he spent the evening stretched out on the couch in the living room, talking to

Rose in the mirror above the mantle place. She told him some of the details of her

haunting – how she could only appear in mirrors, and she couldn't leave the house until

she remembered what exactly had happened to her. That was why she wanted Emmett to help

her, she said; after she found out how she'd been killed, she'd be free to go. She also told

him what it had been like to work in the movie theater – free candy and passes every

month, special advance screenings for the big movies, and plenty of other perks that

popped up if you stuck around long enough. It sounded fun. But Edward was getting

sleepy; it was getting dark outside, and darker inside. He focused on a lamp in the corner

and kept asking Rose questions to keep himself awake. It worked for a little while, but

soon he could see the light in the room getting dimmer and dimmer. He rubbed his eyes,

but the lamp in the corner was fading. His eyelids kept getting heavier, and finally he fell

asleep.

He dreamed. He was in a long hall lined with closed white doors. He went

through, opening the doors, and behind each one was a mirror. Each mirror was different:

there were fancy, gilded mirrors, old-fashioned nautical mirrors shaped like glass

bubbles, plain bathroom mirrors, broken mirrors, and even tiny compact mirrors. He

looked in each one, but couldn't see his reflection. Way at the end of the hall was a girl

with her back to him, and long red hair that reached the floor. As he opened the doors

he kept moving towards her, but no matter how far he went, she stayed the same distance

away. Suddenly he heard an odd sound: a high-pitched whistling, like the sound of a tea

kettle. It was coming from behind one of the doors, three doors ahead on the left from

where he was standing. Edward moved to the door and opened it; abruptly, the whistling

stopped. He didn't see the girl with the red hair turn to watch him, didn't see the skirts

of her long white dress move as she came toward him. Behind the door was another

mirror, this time a full-length one with ornate framing. But it was covered; something

dark and sticky was blocking the reflection. Edward reached forward and wiped at the

surface with his hand. Red gunk came off on his hand, but it was working – he could see

the silvery surface gleaming underneath. The sticky red stuff clung to him, smearing over

the mirror like paste and caking his hand. But he kept wiping, clearing off a place large

enough to see into. Finally, the surface was cleaned to his satisfaction. This time he saw

his face. But something was wrong: he couldn't say what, but he knew the second he saw

it that it wasn't him. It looked like him, but it wasn't.

"That's not me," he said aloud.

Then he saw something else in the mirror, a pair of eyes like twin stars over his

shoulder. Everything else went dark.

When Emmett got home, his house was in shadow again. He reached for the light in

the corner, but it was already on. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

"Rose?" he called.

"Yeah?"

Immediately the darkness retreated. The lamp in the corner flared back to life, and

he saw the girl in the mirror, looking at him, arms crossed, as if nothing had happened.

"Where's Edward?" he asked.

Rose pointed to the couch; there he was, still sprawled over the cushions, not far

from where Emmett had left him. But it had gotten dark.

"I shouldn't have stayed away so long," said Emmett.

"Oh, calm down," Rose scolded. "He's fine – look at him. He just fell asleep."

Emmett knelt down by the couch and punched Edward in the shoulder. He mumbled in

his sleep, then blearily opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. Then he groaned and

rubbed at his face. Emmett laughed.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I had the _weirdest _dream. Hang on – I need to wash my hands."

"Huh?"

Emmett watched in amusement and confusion as Edward sat up, got up from the couch,

and headed for the half-bath under the staircase, all the time holding his right hand away

from him as if there was something gross on it. Emmett glanced back at Rose, who

shrugged.

"Edward, what are you talking about?"

Edward came out of the bathroom after a few seconds, still shaking his hand and

looking at it strangely.

"I'll tell you in a minute," he said. "How'd it go?"

"Oh! Not bad – here, let me show you."

They went into the kitchen to sit at the table, and Emmett pulled out the papers he'd

copied from the microform. He hadn't found much, but he'd gotten Rose's obituary. As

Bradley had said, there was nothing mentioned in the rest of the paper, and not much in

the obituary itself. All that was listed was the date of the memorial service and a few

minor details like where she'd gone to school, how old she'd been, the day of her death,

and of course the fact that she was part of the celebrated Tanner family.

"See, there's nothing," said Emmett. "Nothing about how she died, or even that it was

a stabbing at all – they could have left the suicide part out of it, if that's what happened,

but they didn't even mention it."

"Mm. The plot thickens. Maybe you should ask her about it."

"I _can't _ask her about it – she doesn't remember anything. And I feel like she'd be

insulted if I asked if she did it herself."

"She should remember something like that though. And if that's what happened,

and you find out some other way, then eventually you're gonna have to tell her."

"I guess." Emmett sighed. "Hey, what were you going to tell me earlier? You seemed

kind of out of it."

"Oh, um. . ." Edward frowned and scratched at his hair. "I was going to tell you my

dream, but I can't really remember it."

"Oh."

Edward shrugged. Suddenly Emmett thought of the girl in the white dress – the one

that _he _hadn't remembered until Alice had brought her up again.

"You don't remember anything?" he asked his brother.

Edward shook his head.

"What was it like? Was it creepy?" Emmett prodded.

"Um. . . I don't know. I guess so – I mean, it might've been."

"Did you see a girl? In a white dress?"

Edward sighed.

"I _don't know, _Emmett – I can't remember."

"All right, all right. Sorry."

Emmett let it go at that, and led the conversation in another direction. Edward was

leaving tomorrow, and after that everything would probably go back to normal anyway.

He was already starting to regret inviting him. But Alice was coming over soon too; she

would figure everything out for them. Still, he wondered why Edward had wanted to wash

his hands so badly.

"Listen," he said, "Maybe we should stay somewhere else tonight. Like a hotel or

something."

"Huh?" asked Edward. "Why?"

"I just think it's safer not to be here at night."

Edward laughed shortly.

"I really don't think it's that big a deal," he said, "But if you really want to, then,"

he shrugged, "Fine. We'll stay someplace else. It's your house."

Emmett gave a half-hearted grin, but he wondered.


	3. Chapter 3

Edward decided to stay over an extra day. They did get a hotel suite near the

oceanfront to stay in overnight, but in the morning Edward found himself in the car,

driving back down Windsor. He must have called Bella to tell her the change of plans;

he remembered dialing her number, and then holding the cell up to his ear while he was

driving, but he didn't remember hearing her voice, and he didn't know what he'd said to

her.

Minutes later he woke up – at least that was what it felt like – and he was parked

in front of the condo again. He got out of the car and stared up at the place.

"What am I doing here?" he wondered aloud.

Again he thought he saw something move in a window upstairs, but when he

looked there was nothing there. _Maybe it's just Rose_, he thought, but then she usually

only showed up in the mirrors. Maybe it didn't have to be a mirror – just any reflective

surface. A window would work for that, if it was the case. As he mused he found himself

walking up the porch steps and into the foyer. When he put his foot on the first stair in the

front hall he stopped. It was too hot in here; something wasn't right. Edward blinked and

pushed his hair out of his eyes; he was standing in front of the guestroom door. _Did I_

_really move that fast? _He wondered. Maybe not; maybe he just hadn't been paying

attention.

Suddenly something in his pocket started buzzing. Edward looked down in

surprise, then recognized the sound of his phone. He pulled it out and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Ed – where are you?"

It was Emmett.

"Oh," said Edward, "Um. I'm in the house."

"In _my _house? Why?"

"I . . . forgot something."

Emmett's voice faded to the background as Edward reached for the guestroom door.

His fingers hovered over the doorknob; he heard himself saying "Uh-huh," somewhere in

the back of his consciousness. His hand closed around the doorknob. It turned. He felt the

bolt slide out of the door.

"_Hello_!" yelled Emmett's voice in his ear, "Earth to Edward – are you even listening to

me, man?"

Edward blinked.

"What?" he asked.

"I just asked if you wanted some help, getting your things together."

"Oh." Edward let go of the doorknob and turned back around, heading down the

staircase. "No, that's okay. I think I got it all figured out. Thanks."

Edward realized suddenly that somewhere in the space of the walk upstairs, he'd

dreamed again. Not only that, but he'd dreamed last night. And it had been the same

dream, both times. He still couldn't remember it.

Emmett was getting worried. He could tell his brother wasn't feeling well, but he

refused to talk about it or even admit that anything was wrong. Emmett didn't want to kick

him out, but he had a feeling that something terrible would happen if he couldn't

convince him to go back home soon. He wanted to stay in the hotel, but Edward kept

going back to the condo, always claiming that he'd "forgotten something;" Emmett didn't

trust it. He himself made a point of staying out of the house as often as he could get away

with, only going inside once each day to let Rose now he was still around, and he

encouraged Edward to do the same.

Edward didn't say a word about the dreams. He'd been in Port Angeles a full three days

longer than he'd originally planned to. He wasn't sure why – he didn't even remember

making a decision to stay longer. Emmett was asking a lot of questions. It was getting on his

nerves. So much so that he starting to avoid the younger boy, often by going back to the

condo. And he kept dreaming, over and over. Sometimes it came to him on the beach,

while he was dozing in a plastic chair; sometimes on one of the over-stuffed chairs in the

hotel; more often than not, he somehow found himself back at the house, either curled up

on the sofa in the basement or in the bedroom upstairs, with no idea how he'd gotten

there. The dream was always the same: he would walk through the hall of doors, opening

each one and seeing mirrors of every shape and size imaginable – mirrors that didn't

show his reflection. And at the end of the hall, there was always the girl with the white

dress and the long red hair, always facing away from him. He never saw her turn, but

he started to sense it. He started to notice when she moved, and it was always when he

found the one mirror that would show his face, the one smeared with gunky red stuff. The

reflection was always the same: it was him, but it was all wrong. It was like a clone, an

imposter, somebody that looked exactly like him but wasn't. Or worse, it was like a shell

– an empty case of flesh with no life behind it at all. And of course it always ended with

those creepy, starry eyes, staring at him over the clone-Edward's shoulder in the mirror.

He didn't always remember the dream when he woke up, but it had happened so often

now he knew exactly what happened. He was sleeping more and more often now. He

took naps in the middle of the day, naps in the early morning, naps before he went out to

the boardwalk – all the time. Every time he woke up, he would feel the sticky substance

clinging to his right hand, and he would have to wash vigorously before it went away. He

never told Emmett.

The next time the two of them were at the condo together was when Alice came

over to do her reading. She showed up exactly once, popping in and out of all the rooms

like a pixie, fluttering past the boys quickly and leaving nothing behind to show that

she'd been there. Every so often she would shoot a curious glance at Edward, but then

she'd shrug and move on, as if it wasn't important. Finally the three of them sat down at

the kitchen table and Alice told them what she'd found.

"It's not a very old place," she said, looking at Emmett. "You were right. But I think

this ghost has been here since before it was built."

"Who, Rose?" asked Emmett.

"No, the other one. The second presence. She's very strong in every room, but

especially the basement and guest room."

Edward felt his face go red for a second, but he didn't say anything.

"What about it getting dark all the time?" Emmett asked.

Alice shrugged.

"There's a lot of history behind the spirit," she said. "I'm not sure why she likes it

dark. You were right about that too, though – she's the one doing it."

"Should I ask Rose?"

"I already have. She's been buzzing in my ear since I walked in the door." Alice

laughed. "I guess it's exciting for her to be able to communicate without a mirror for

once."

"Well, what did she tell you?"

"Not much. She recognized the spirit when I mentioned it to her, but she's

keeping herself well-guarded. Either she doesn't know who the other girl is, or she

doesn't want to tell me."

"Weird. . ."

"She's quite fond of you, by the way."

Emmett laughed, a little uncomfortably.

"Really?"

Alice nodded.

"You might try asking her yourself. I can't be sure, but she might be more honest

with you. Anyway, you're the one who has to live here. You have more of a right to

know than I do."

Emmett thanked her and started leading the way back to the front door, but on their

way out of the kitchen Alice grabbed Edward by the arm.

"You should tell him your dreams," she whispered. "They're more dangerous

than you think."

Edward stopped dead in his tracks, watching silently as Alice swept past him

towards the front door. Then he ran straight upstairs to his room. Emmett stared up after him.

"I don't know what's the matter with him," he sighed. "He keeps coming back

here."

"I have something to tell you," said Alice.

_Oh, here we go again, _thought Emmett, but this time he was genuinely curious.

"What's up?" he asked.

"He's seen her," she said.

Emmett frowned.

"Who?"

"You know who. He doesn't want you to know. But you should get him away

from here, and fast."

"Wait, wait a second – what's happening? How do you know he's seen her?"

"He has dreams. All the time. And he doesn't realize it yet, but she's taking over

his mind. Soon she'll drive him mad, and when that happens he won't be able to leave the

house."

Emmett stared at her.

"Rose told you something," he said. "Didn't she?"

"Not quite. But you should speak to her. See if she'll be more open with you than

she was with me. And get out of this house as soon as you can."

After Alice left, Emmett tip-toed up to Edward's room. The door was cracked. Emmett

put a hand to the door and eased it open silently; it was pitch-dark inside. He crept inside

slowly, trying not to make any noise. He could hear breathing, low and steady, so he

knew that Edward was fast asleep. There was a strange smell, like salt mixed with mold

and . . . something else. Something rotten. It was sickening. Emmett could barely stand it; he

wondered how Edward could sleep in there. But since Edward didn't seem to be hurt or

upset or anything, Emmett backed out of the room again and decided to confront Rose. He

went to a mirror on the landing, at the top of the staircase.

"Rose?" he called softly.

Nothing. He tried again:

"Rose, are you there? It's me."

"Oh, hello!" she chirped, finally appearing. "Who was that pixie-girl? I liked her."

Emmett laughed.

"That's Alice," he said, "She's a friend of mine."

"She could hear me, you know. Without the mirror – that was nice."

"Yeah, she's psychic. I wanted her to come look at the house. Listen, I have to ask

you something."

"Okay. What is it?"

"Um. . ."

Emmett looked at her, staring back at him so innocently with those big, dark eyes; he

decided not to bring up the real question right away.

"Well," he said, "Your parents. Are they still here?"

Rose looked away.

"No. No, they um . . . they moved away."

"They're not in the city anymore?"

She shook her head.

"I guess it was too painful for them."

"Too bad. . . I would have liked to ask them some things for you."

Rose laughed coldly.

"They wouldn't tell you anything. They'd rather pretend it never happened."

Emmett shrugged.

"I would have tried."

Rose smiled.

"I know you would."

This time Emmett looked away. He was embarrassed, but he couldn't say why.

"Listen," said Rose. "I know you don't like living here much, but I'm glad

you're here. It's nice to have some company."

Emmett grinned.

"No problem," he said. "Sorry I haven't been around much lately. It's been kinda.

. ."

"It's okay. I understand."

Unfortunately, Emmett knew they were getting further and further away from the

point he was trying to get to in the first place. He didn't want to make her upset, but if

this was going to be between some dead girl he'd never really met and his own brother,

well, there was only person he could side with.

"Rose?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"Who's the girl in the white dress?"

Rose frowned.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"I'm serious. I've seen her, and so has Ed."

Rose looked away and tugged at a strand of her hair.

"Please," said Emmett, "Who is she?"

The ghost continued not to look at him.

"I don't know," she muttered.

"Rose—"

"I don't know."

"Look, this could be dangerous. I'm glad you like having me here, but if there's a

chance that I or Edward could get hurt—"

"Emmett, I _don't know_! I swear, I don't! She was here when I got here, but I don't

know who she is. I don't know _what _she is either. I haven't even seen her since I got on

this side."

Emmett sighed.

"I'm not lying, Emmett," said Rose. "But I can't help you. You'll have to figure her

out yourself."

"You don't know anything?"

"All I remember is I used to have dreams about her. That's it. That's all I know."

That was all Emmett could get out of her. He was inclined to believe her; he didn't

really have any reason not to. He still felt a little guilty for bringing it up in the first place,

but he didn't have any other choice.


	4. Chapter 4

Edward wasn't asleep. He didn't think he was, anyway; it was getting harder to tell

the difference. He slept so much these days, and the dreams were changing, becoming

more like everyday life so that he didn't always know what was real and what wasn't.

But awake or asleep, he was in his room. Someone was speaking to him. Somewhere in

front of him was a dim shape, either white or red, just out of his line of vision. And a

voice spoke without words, inside his mind: _Don't go, don't go_, it said, over and over.

And then, _Make contact. Summon her. Talk to her. _Edward bent his head and rubbed at his

eyes. It was so hot in there.

"Who?" he mumbled. "Who should I talk to?"

But the voice just kept repeating, _Make contact._

He didn't remember much after that. The next thing he knew, he was at an

outdoor deli in Port Angeles, having lunch with Emmett. His brother was asking him questions,

about the girl in the white dress. And he was answering. He blinked, shielding his eyes

from the sun as if he'd only just stepped outside.

"You okay?" asked Emmett, watching his brother rub his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied. "I've just been tired."

"Yeah, you look tired. You've been really out of it lately."

"Sorry. I think that girl Alice kinda got to me. She said some things to me,

and . . . I dunno, it just shook me up a bit."

Emmett stared at him, an uncomfortable look on his face.

"What?" asked Edward.

"Ed, that was three days ago," he said.

"Really? Jesus. . ."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Edward looked up at Emmett. There was genuine concern in his eyes – he wasn't just

being nosey. Edward sighed and his shoulders fell. He looked down at his sandwich –

untouched – and realized that, if he'd eaten in the days since Alice had left, he didn't

remember it. He didn't remember anything.

"Emmett, I. . ." he said, "I can't remember anything that's happened since then. I must

have been conscious on some level, but. . ." He shrugged.

"You've been walking around like a zombie," said Emmett. "You keep mumbling

stuff about 'making contact,' and you haven't been packing."

"Packing?"

"So you can leave. You were supposed to get out last week, but whenever you get

in the car you just keep going back to the house. Right now is the first time you've been,

like, lucid since Alice left."

Edward laughed. It was a dry laugh, mirthless, and he felt the chilling tension of

fear bunch up inside his chest.

"I've been having these dreams lately," he said.

Emmett waited for him to go on.

Edward shut his eyes and rubbed at his forehead.

"I can't remember them most of the time," he said, "But they're . . . Every time I

wake up, I feel weird. There's this sticky stuff all over my hands, and I have to go wash

them."

"Yeah, I've seen you doing that," said Emmett. "Is this the same dream you were

going to tell me about before?"

Edward looked at him blankly.

"You don't remember?" Emmett asked. "Right after I got home that first night, when I

got Rose's obituary, you got up and washed your hands and then later you said you'd

had some kind of freaky dream you couldn't remember."

Edward shrugged.

"I don't know, maybe." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Every time I

dream, it's the same dream, so I guess it must've been."

"Weird. . . Because I was having dreams too, at first, but they were all different."

"Must be something else then."

"Edward?"

"What?"

"Did you see a girl in a white dress?"

He nodded.

"The one with long red hair and scary eyes, right?"

"Yeah, that's her," said Emmett.

Edward slumped in his seat.

"Yeah, I've seen her. Not just in the dreams either. At least I don't think so. . .

Honestly, it's been getting harder to tell the difference."

"What do you mean?"

"I keep hearing her voice in my head. She wants me to do something for her."

Emmett frowned.

"What does she want you to do?" he asked.

Edward laughed again.

"I don't know," he said. He couldn't keep his voice from shaking a little. "I can't

remember. Emmett, what should I do?"

Emmett thought for a minute, then sat up, gathered his lunch back into its paper bag,

and gestured for Edward to follow him. Edward got up and together they walked back to

Emmett's car.

"You should get out of here," said Emmett, "Now, while you're thinking about it. I'm

going to find the warranty to that damn house and see if I can get rid of it."

He threw the car into gear and pulled out onto the road.

"What about Rose?" asked Edward.

"Forget Rose," said Emmett, "This is more important. It's too bad, but there's

nothing we can do about it. Besides, I have a feeling that whatever happened to her will

happen to you too if you don't leave now."

Emmett helped Edward pack all his things into the car. Edward insisted on bringing

them out of the room himself – he wouldn't let Emmett go in for him. This worried Emmett just a

little, but since his brother finally seemed not only willing but eager to leave Port Angeles, he

didn't argue with him. The car was packed and ready in twenty minutes. They didn't

waste a lot of time on goodbyes; just a quick hug and then Edward was on the road. For

the first time, Emmett really hoped he wouldn't see him again for a while.

Edward felt like he hadn't driven in years. He was sleepy, but it was a more

normal-feeling sleepiness than before. He was just tired. He still heard snatches of

_Contact her _and _Don't go _in the back of his mind, but it was getting fainter. He felt better

already. He turned left on Windsor and headed towards the interstate. As he passed

Port Angeles on the right he heard something new: _Wrong way. _It was the same voice, no

doubt about it. He coasted to a stop at a traffic light and squeezed his eyes shut, shook his

head to clear the voice away. He waited; nothing. The voice was gone. Edward let out a

breath. The light turned green and he started driving again. He passed the movie theater

on the left, next to a 1950s-style diner, and wondered if it had looked the same when

Rose had worked there. It couldn't have changed that much – it was just a couple years

ago that she'd died, after all. He wondered what had happened to her, exactly. Edward felt

warm all over, as if he were lying under layers and layers of blankets. It was nice;

comforting. As he neared the turn-off to get onto the interstate he suddenly realized he

was going the wrong way.

"Oops," he muttered, and pulled the car onto one of the service roads on the side

of the boulevard to turn around.

He pulled back onto Windsor, this time going in the other direction. _That's better_,

he thought.

Emmett was on the phone, talking to the real estate agent who'd sold him the condo.

He'd found the warranty, and just as he'd hoped he was still in the right timeframe to get

out without too much hassle. Unfortunately, the agent didn't seem to see it that way. He

was still arguing with him when he heard a car in the driveway. He went to the kitchen

doorway and looked through to the front of the house; he recognized Edward's car, still

humming in the driveway, and Edward coming up the front walk.

"Shit. . ." he muttered. "Can I call you back? Something just came up."

He hung up and went to the front door. Edward came straight in, looking a little

confused, his hair damp with sweat and sticking up in weird places like he'd been

running his hands through it.

"What's going on?" asked Emmett.

Edward shook his head, not looking at him.

"I can't get away," he said. "I have to talk to her first. I have to make contact."

He moved past Emmett, straight to the kitchen in the back.

"What are you talking about?" Emmett asked, following.

"You know," said Edward, "The girl. The one in the white dress. She keeps telling

me things. I have to talk to her."

He was moving the chairs around the kitchen table, putting three around the circle

like a triangle. He went to one of the drawers by the sink and took out a fat white candle a

book of matches. The candle went in the center of the table. Before he could do anything

else, Emmett grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back so he could look at

him.

"Edward, what are you doing?!" he yelled.

Edward looked at him blankly. Emmett took a deep breath and tried again.

"Ed," he said, "Look at me. This is _me_. Emmett, your brother."

"I know."

"Then what's going on? Why are you doing this?"

Edward calmly pushed Emmett away from him and sat down at the table.

"I have to do this to make her leave me alone," he explained. "I have to talk to

her, figure out what her problem is. Do you understand?"

Emmett sat down across from him slowly, without taking his eyes off Edward.

Something wasn't right. He was talking more normally than before, but his tone wasn't

right and his eyes looked glazed. It looked like Edward, but somehow Emmett wasn't sure that

it was really him.

"This is the same thing you're doing for Rose," he continued. "You have to help

her to get her to leave the house. I have to do this to make the other one leave."

Emmett shook his head.

"No," he said. "This is a bad idea."

Edward ignored him and lit the candle. Emmett grabbed the edge of the table to keep

himself from shaking.

"Turn the lights off," said Edward, shaking out the match.

"Huh?"

"She won't come out unless it's dark."

"Edward, I really don't want to—"

The lights went out. There was nothing gradual about it this time. In the dim,

reddish glow of the candle, all Emmett could see were the contours of Edward's face, and his

eyes – darker than he remembered them – glinting at him across the table. He shot up out

of his seat and tried to head for the door, but Edward grabbed his arm and pulled him back

into his chair.

"Wait!" he pleaded. There was something different about his voice this time.

"Emmett, wait – please! Don't leave me here."

Emmett was trembling now, but he looked at his brother. Even in the darkness, he

could see that Edward's face was flushed and sweaty. He clutched Emmett's sleeve so tight

Emmett could feel his fingernails coming through the fabric.

"What is it? What's going on?" Emmett's voice came out in a squeak.

Edward took a deep breath.

"I can't leave," he said, "Don't you understand? I can't get out of here!"

"Wha-"

"Look, I don't know what else to do. She's trying to kill me!"

Emmett stared at him; his eyes were clear now. Suddenly Alice's words came back

to him: Once the second ghost "took over his mind," he wouldn't be able to leave the

house. It was happening already. Emmett shook his head and tried to hold the tears back.

"No," he said, "No, this can't be – there's got to be something else we can do."

"Just wait," said Edward. "Maybe it'll be okay. She wants to talk to me. I have to,

Emmett. Don't you see that?"

Emmett didn't see, but he nodded anyway. It got very quiet in the room then. Both of

them stared at the candle, waiting; Edward was still clutching at Emmett's sleeve. For a long

time nothing happened. It got warmer, and the darkness weighed in on both of them. It

was difficult to stay awake. Finally Edward's eyes slid shut, his head nodded, and he sank

forward onto the surface of the table. Emmett looked over; most of the fear was gone now.

He was so tired, and nothing had happened. And now Edward was asleep again. Emmett

reached over to touch him, not to wake him but to move him to a more comfortable

position, but then quickly drew back. Right behind Edward's head, on the back of his

neck, was a pale, shadowy form that at first looked like a piece of knobbly wood wrapped

in a paper towel. Then Emmett noticed the open sores and grayish bone peeking through tears

in the "paper towel" – it was a ghostly hand, rotten and decaying, if it had been badly

burned. Emmett stood up and backed away from the table, jostling the candle as he did so.

That's when he saw the red hair, hanging in a thin veil just behind Edward's shoulder.

Emmett tried to cry out, to tell her to _leave his brother alone_, but he was frozen. He watched

in horror as the dead hand tightened on Edward's neck, and slowly hand, hair, and Edward,

limp as a rag doll, retreated backwards into the darkness.

Only when he could no longer see either of them was Emmett able to move again. He

bolted for the light switch on the wall, knowing full well that there was a strong

possibility it wouldn't work. But it _did _work; the second he hit it, the kitchen blazed back

to life again. Emmett looked ahead, towards the dining room, but there was nothing there.

And it was light – all the darkness was gone. Actually, it was brighter now than it had

been since Emmett had moved in. He turned back to the kitchen to see if he'd missed

something, and had to catch himself on the doorframe. The chair where Edward had been

sitting was overturned, and the candle had disappeared – just a black burn spot on the

table showed where it had been. And there was something else: a handprint, on the

surface of the table, where Edward's hand had been, in some dark, reddish substance like

blood. Emmett looked down at his sleeve where Edward had grabbed him: there was red there

too.

"Jesus," he muttered.

Then he ran to the front of the house and up the stairs to Edward's room, taking the

steps three at a time. All the lights in the house were on – it didn't even look like the

same place. He slowed down when he reached the door to the guest room. The smell was

overpowering; he could hardly breathe where he was. He moved forward and put his

hand on the doorknob. Light was streaming through the crack under the doorway; the

lights were on inside. Emmett took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pulled the door toward

him. He knew there was no way he could have prepared himself for whatever was inside,

but when he saw it all he could do was stare: the walls were covered. Every inch was

smeared with thick red sludge, thicker than blood, but what else could it be? That was

what the smell was coming from: the salt and the rot. Little hand patterns were scattered

over the mess, as if someone – Edward? – had smothered the walls himself. The room was

empty. Emmett gagged, clapped a hand to his mouth, and returned to the hallway. He knew

there was only one thing to do now: he had to see Alice.


	5. Chapter 5

Edward was in a dark place. He couldn't see much, and he couldn't hear either.

The reason was that, where he was, there really wasn't much to hear or see. There was

just a girl, sitting in front of him, with a long white dress and long red hair. And the

eyes were strange – no lids, no pupils, just white. _Moon eyes_, Edward thought vaguely. He

didn't notice any of her other features. He got the impression that she was smiling, but he

couldn't make out whether or not she had a mouth. Her voice was speaking inside his

head.

_Hello_, she said.

"Hello," said Edward. The sound of his own voice startled him; it was muffled and

faraway-sounding, like a dream. "What's your name?"

She told him.

_You should write it down, so you don't forget_.

"Right. . ."

Then he realized he was holding a shiny silver pen in his left hand. He was sitting

at a desk, and a sheet of blank paper lay in front of him. He gripped the pen carefully and

began writing. It didn't work right away; he had to go over each letter several times, hard,

carving into the spongy surface of the paper. The ink spilled out onto the page, gushing

up from the paper. And even then it wouldn't stay put – the ink ran and ran, slipping over

the paper in little streams until the name was almost obscured. Almost. He went over and

over the letters, bearing down hard, until he could read it properly.

_Now you won't forget. Now you won't leave._

Edward thought he heard someone calling him. Who was that? Was it Emmett? But the

voice faded quickly, and then he fell.

"What do you mean she's not here?!" Emmett screamed at the puzzled-looking man

in the parking lot. "Look, this is important – I need to talk to her _now_."

He was in the shopping center at Port Angeles where Alice's fortune-telling booth

was supposed to be. Overnight, it seemed, the booth had transformed into a plain wooden

box on an island in the middle of the parking lot, with big red letters over the door that

read "For Lease." The realtor had just come by to inspect the place and make sure

everything was in shape for selling.

"I'm sorry, kid," he told Emmett, "But I don't know what to tell you. These people are

like gypsies – they never hang around the same spot for more than a couple weeks or so."

"But she knows me – are you sure she didn't say anything about where she was

going? Or how to get in touch with her at least?"

The realtor shrugged.

"Not to me," he said. "But listen, this is a tourist spot anyhow – there should be

plenty of other fortune-tellers down by the Boardwalk. I think there's a pretty popular

one on 21st, down by the mini-golf course. You could try there if you want."

Emmett turned away, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He didn't get it

– why would Alice leave him now? Didn't she understand how dangerous this was? But

then again, maybe she did. Maybe that's why she'd left – she didn't want to get involved.

Emmett sighed; half-assed explanations were no good at this point. He had to do something.

He turned back to the realtor and thanked him, then got back in his car and headed for the

condo. He didn't understand what was going on, but one thing he'd decided for certain:

he was getting the rest of his things out of that house right this minute, and getting the

hell away from there.

When he pulled into his parking spot he glanced at Edward's car, still humming in

the driveway. He hadn't even bothered to cut off the engine, and the driver's side door

was still open. Emmett got out of his car and went over to the open door. He poked his head

inside and saw the keys in the ignition, so he stooped inside and cut the engine off, taking

the keys with him. He went up the porch steps and opened the front door, then stopped

cold. Draped over the banister was a white button-down shirt. It was the shirt he'd been

wearing as a jacket earlier – the one with the bloodstain on the sleeve. He'd tossed it

there himself before leaving, thinking he'd take it to the cleaner's later. This was his

dream.

Emmett held his breath, trying not to think about what he knew would happen next; he

heard a soft "pip," almost imperceptible, as a drop hit the shirt from above. A red spot

appeared in the center of the fabric and began to spread. Emmett looked up, his hand still

latched to the doorknob. His breath was coming in short, nervous gasps. There, on the

landing, poking out between two of the banisters, was a hand, palm up, with blood

seeping down between the curled fingers. Emmett didn't want to look, but he had to. He

forced his hand to open and let go of the door, then walked silently up the stairs. His feet

got heavier the further he went, as if his body was trying to will him against going all the

way. It was getting hotter. He kept his gaze ahead, trying not to see the hand shifting in

perspective as he got higher. He saw Rose in the mirror at the top of the stairs, staring

straight ahead in the direction of the hand. She glanced over when Emmett reached the

landing.

"Don't get mad," she said, wide-eyed. "I couldn't stop it – I didn't realize. . ."

Her voice trailed off when she realized Emmett wasn't listening. Emmett turned and

looked down at the landing. There was Edward, lying on his side, hair covering his face

and both legs crumpled under him as if he'd fallen. His left hand was clutching a slender

penknife, still red. His right arm was lying underneath him, the hand sticking out over the

edge of the landing. Scrawled in glistening, bloody letters on the inside of his arm was a

name: Vicky.

Emmett let his breath out and knelt down next to his brother. It was strange – the

shock wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. He had almost expected this. He reached

for the bleeding arm to look at the name more closely; the skin around the letters was raw

and tender-looking.

"Don't say her name out loud," said Rose.

Emmett looked back.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Listen, I _remember everything _now. This is exactly what happened to me."

Emmett stood up and stared at her.

"What?"

"When I lived here, I started having dreams all the time. Like I told you. Dreams

about _her_," she gestured to Edward's arm. "And I didn't remember until I saw this, but she

got inside my head somehow. She made me . . ." Rose faltered and looked down.

"What?" asked Emmett, his voice rising. "What did she do to you?"

"There was no killer," said Rose. "It was me. I did it myself." She tugged at the

neck of her filthy tank top and fingered one of the scars on her chest.

Emmett's eyes widened.

"You're telling me. . ." He started. "You mean . . . you stabbed _yourself_, thirtyseven

times?"

Rose nodded sadly.

"She tricked me," she explained. "She told me there was a spider inside me – a

giant spider – and I was . . . trying to get it out."

Emmett pictured her, the sorrowful-looking girl in front of him, digging into her own

chest over and over with a dagger.

"Jesus Christ. . ." he murmured.

"I don't know what she told him," said Rose. "But it's too late now."

"What? No – don't say that."

"Emmett, I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do."

"Shut up – it's _not _too late! I – I saw his chest move. He's okay, he's still

breathing." Emmett didn't know whether he was making it up or not.

"But I _saw _him. I saw what happened."

"No, he's all right! He might be all right!"

"No, Emmett. I saw him on _this _side."

Emmett felt the wind knocked out of him suddenly, and Rose's figure in the mirror

got blurry and hard to see. Then everything happened at once: he heard himself yelling at

her, heard the ghost let out a little "Oh!" of surprise, and then both his fists crashed into

the mirror, shattering it. There was a sudden _whoosh! _in the air, and a cold wind flew out

at him from behind the mirror. And then she was gone. Emmett stood there dazed for a

moment, looking at the shards of glass littering the floor. Then he went back to the body

– No, he reminded himself, it wasn't just a _body_, it was his _brother_. He wasn't dead – he

couldn't be. Emmett grabbed his wrist and tried to wipe the blood away, but it just smeared

and bubbled up even more. So he let go and grabbed Edward by the shirt, tried to move

him away from the edge of the landing. He was heavy and hard to move, like a sack of

potatoes. Emmett grabbed his face.

"Come on, wake up, Edward," he said. "I have to get you out of here."

No response. Emmett rubbed his face with the inside of his wrist to wipe the tears

away.

"Come _on_, Ed! You have to wake up – we have to get out of here!"

Nothing.

"Edward, please, just _wake up_! Listen to me, goddammit!"

He shook him hard by the collar, and almost gagged when the head flopped back,

lifeless. Emmett let go. He reached forward, gingerly, with a finger and slid back Edward's

eyelid. No pupils, no irises – white. Emmett jumped back. He hit a piece of broken glass from

the mirror, but he didn't notice. He stared at the body; it was a body now. Whatever it

was, it was definitely _not _his brother. Emmett was shaking. He didn't remember calling the

police, but at some point he must have because an ambulance came and took the both of

them away to a hospital. The whole way there, while paramedics hooked up needles and

IVs and monitoring machines, Emmett stared at the body on the stretcher. They assured him

that the vital signs showed he was still alive. It looked like Edward, but it wasn't him. Emmett

made a decision then: he wasn't going to let this go on. Even if his brother was dead –

and he didn't linger on the thought too long – he was going to get rid of whatever, or

whoever, had taken him.


	6. Chapter 6

Emmett had been on the phone for over half an hour. He had to keep his voice down, because he was in a hospital, but also because he kept getting angry looks from the other patrons who wanted him to get off the phone. Still, there was no way he was hanging up until the he got he answers he wanted. He ignored them.

"Are you sure there's no way to. . .?" he was asking. "No. No, she didn't tell me anything – I told you that already. . . Well, what about around here? Yeah, in this area?. ..Look, I'm not going to any of those cheap, touristy places, like . . . . Madame Zorba's or something. I want— Oh. Okay, where's that? . . . How do I get in touch with him?" Emmett pulled a piece of paper of his pocket and scribbled something on it with a pen someone had left in the little alcove for the phone. "Okay, got it. Are you sure this—" He listened for a while, then sighed heavily and raised his voice just a little. "Look, someone's life is at stake here, okay? Don't waste my time. . . Fine. All right, I'll try it but—Yeah. Okay. Thanks. Bye." He hung up the phone.

The hospital room looked exactly as it had when he'd left it: Bella was curled up in one of the bedside chairs, fast asleep, her long brown hair falling over her face. Cards, flowers, and other gifts spilled over the window sill and corner dresser, some falling onto the floor. And in the bed, lying so still he may as well have been dead, was Edward. He probably was dead, Emmett reminded himself, but he hadn't told Bella yet.

Emmett put a hand on Bella's shoulder and shook gently. She inhaled sharply and pulled away from him, then looked up and saw who it was. She smiled weakly and uncurled herself from the chair.

"Hi," she said.

"Are you okay?" Emmett asked.

Bella hugged her knees to her chest and looked down at Edward. She shook her head.

"No," she said. "But I'm better, I think."

"Sorry," said Emmett. "Stupid question."

Bella shrugged it off.

"It's okay," she said. "How are you?"

"Okay, I guess. I, uh. . . I just set up a meeting with this guy. He's a specialist, sorta."

"A specialist?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe it'd be a good idea to get a second opinion."

Bella furrowed her eyebrows together, but she didn't argue. Emmett had been working on the lie since he'd first picked up the phone; and he hated lying to Bella, but he didn't know what else to do. She'd never believe him if he told her what had actually happened.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm meeting him at noon later."

"Okay." Bella yawned. "What time is it now?"

"Around four. AM."

"Mm."

"Bells, you should go back to the hotel. Try to get some sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Look, I'm sure they'll call us if anything changes. It'll be okay."

"I'm fine here, Emmett."

Her tone told him that she didn't want to be argued with. Emmett sighed. The truth was he didn't want to leave her alone with . . . well, whatever was in that body still. It was still ticking and he didn't trust it. The machines that hooked into Edward's nervous system made soft electrical noises, steady and regular, showing all his vital signs as okay.

Emmett tried a different approach.

"Where's Masen?"

Bella stiffened, just barely.

"He's at the hotel," she said. "Carlisle's watching him."

"Oh."

"Just give me a few more minutes, okay? Then I'll go. Promise."

Emmett didn't like the idea, but he finally left her.

Bella wasn't going anywhere. She had talked to the doctors earlier that day and realized that they had no idea what was wrong with her husband. More specifically, they couldn't find anything wrong with him at all.

"This is highly unusual," the doctor had told her. "All his vital signs are fine, which is expected even at this stage, but this frequency here," he indicated one of the ticking, linear messages on one of the machines, "Is usually much slower for a comatose patient. In other words, as far as the monitors are concerned, he's just . . . asleep."

"But what does that mean?" asked Bella. "Can't you just wake him up then? I mean, if he were actually in a coma it would be different, but—"

"Yes, it would be. We've tried, but his body is reacting as if he _is _in a coma. We're just as stumped by this as you are."

It was never reassuring to hear a doctor admit he was "stumped" about something; it usually meant the worst. The oddest thing was that Edward, as far as they could tell, was actually in _better _shape than they had thought at first. They just didn't know what to do for him. Bella pulled her chair closer to the bed and took Edward's hand in hers. She was stumped too, but she wasn't about to give up.


	7. Chapter 7

They had chosen a diner for their meeting place, because it was a public place, and because it was outdoors where they could talk without too much fear of being overheard. When Emmett reached it, he found a boy sitting at a table, a half-eaten pita wrap on a plate in front of him, studying a stack of papers with hastily scribbled writing on them. He was young – not that far along in his twenties – with curly blonde hair and a deep tan. Emmett was just starting to think he'd made a mistake when the boy looked up at him and smiled.

"Oh, hey!" said the boy. "You're here about the possession, right?"

Emmett reached across the table and shook the boy's hand before sitting down.

"Yeah," he said. "Jasper?"

"That's right," said the boy, smiling amiably, "And you are . . .?"

"Emmett. Cullen."

"Right. Take a seat please."

Emmett took a seat.

"So," said Jasper, shoving the papers aside and taking out a pen and legal pad, "I know a little bit about your case, but why don't you go ahead and tell me in your own words so I don't miss anything."

"Okay." Emmett took a deep breath, and for the first time since Lake Crescent, he relived the entire story. When he got to the part about Edward, still in the hospital, but very possibly not himself anymore, Jasper made a weird frown which Emmett took for a sign of skepticism.

"I know it sounds crazy," he said, "But I know it's not him in there. His eyes were all—"

Jasper waved away the idea and shook his head.

"Nah, you're not crazy," he said. "This kind of thing happens sometimes. So, I guess you think that if it's not him, then it's . . ."

"One of the ghosts. Not Rose – the other one. The bad one. Actually, I think that this is what happened to Rose too – in fact, she told me so herself."

"Hm. . ." Jasper tapped the end of his pen against his closed lips.

"What?"

"Well, there's a couple of problems in that theory. I think you're probably right in thinking it's the second ghost that's taken a hold of Edward, but I don't think this is exactly what happened before."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, Rose is dead. Gone. Deceased – completely. There's no body lying around, and now no haunting, not even anyone in the mirrors. Your brother, on the other hand, is still pretty much okay."

"Uh. . ."

"Just listen a second: when the second ghost 'tricked' Rose, as you said, into killing herself, she did it in such a way that there was no way that body could come back. You don't recover from thirty-seven stab wounds – that just doesn't happen, not unless you come back as a zombie or something, and obviously that's not what happened. WithEdward, he ended up with a lot of deep scratches on his arm – you still lose a lot of blood that way, but it's not impossible to recover. So, here's my theory: this second ghost, whoever she is, _tried _to possess Rose, but when it came to actually killing her she went too far. This time the body's incapacitated, but if he wakes up she can still use it."

"So, she's figured out how to do this better, in other words."

"Exactly." Jasper replied grimacing at the end as if at an afterthought.

"But why would she. . . Why Edward? I mean, I was in that house before he was – shouldn't she have tried to possess me instead? It doesn't make any sense."

Jasper gave him a wry grin and shook the pen at him.

"That's what we have to find out," he said. "Can you get me into that hospital room?"

"I guess – it'll be hard, it's supposed to be just family."

"I know, I know. I want to try to open a line of communication. With whatever's in that body right now."

"Okay. . . I'll do what I can."

Bella left the hospital after another twenty minutes, just like she'd said. She went up to the suite that had been booked for the boys, Masen and herself, and found Carlisle asleep on the couch. The TV was still on. Bella took off her coat and draped it over a chair in the kitchenette, then went to the little bedroom where she and the baby were sleeping. Masen was on his back, his little feet sticking straight up in the air as he reached for them with chubby fingers. He gave Bella a big grin when she walked in.

"Hey baby," she cooed, scooping him up and kissing him. "What are you doing awake, hm?"

Masen squirmed in her arms and wriggled around, stretching out towards the window. Bella turned, looking where he was looking.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked.

Then she gasped. She thought she saw something in the window, but it was just her own reflection, dark and ghost-like in the glass. She let out a breath. Masen continued to reach for the glass, whining and gurgling insistently. Bella just turned around and calmed him down as well as she could, rubbing his back and talking to him softly.

"You're a silly boy, aren't you?," she murmured, "Go to sleep. I'll take you to see Daddy in the morning, okay? But now you gotta go to sleep."

She managed to get him to settle down enough to get back in the bed. Then she got undressed and curled up next to him. She was just starting to drift off when she noticed the curtain. It was sticking up at an odd angle, almost as if someone was holding it out, or maybe hiding under it. Bella sat up a little and stared at it; her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. She got up and went to the window to fix it, thinking that maybe it was caught up on something. As she put her hand out to pull it down, the curtain suddenly let itself down, very slowly. She stopped. Suddenly she had a very distinct feeling that someone else was there. She stared at the glass in the window, trying to see something beyond her own dim reflection. There was a faint glimmer in the air, unsteady, like heat waves coming off a car in the middle of summer. She wasn't even sure it was real. Then something very soft and very cold brushed her cheek. Bella choked back a cry and moved away. Her hand came up to rub the cold touch off her face, then she turned back to the bed, grabbed Masen, and decided to fight Carlisle for the couch.

Jasper was moving a shiny, black, buzzing thing about the size and shape of a palm pilot up and down the length of Edward's bed. Bella watched him, arms crossed, as he said things like, "Uh-huh," "Okay," and "That's interesting." Emmett didn't seem bothered in the least. Carlisle just stood by the door and tried not to get in the way. Masen was in the nursery; it had been Emmett's idea. He'd let Bella bring the boy in long enough to say a quick "hello," but after that he'd been insistent that he leave the room. After twenty minutes of watching Jasper "work," Bella frowned, grabbed Emmett's arm and pulled him aside.

"What kind of specialist is this?" she asked.

Emmett's expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly steadied himself and started to answer, "He's a, um. . ."

"Paranormal investigator," said Jasper.

Emmett shot him an angry look.

"What?" asked Carlisle.

"Well, I'm actually more what they call a 'psychic detective,' but since I'm not technically psychic, it's a little more—"

"No no no no, wait just a second," said Carlisle. "Emmett, get over here."

Emmett winced and crossed the room toward him.

"You hired a _psychic_?"

"Um. . ."

"Why?"

"Look, I can explain."

"This isn't a game, Emmett. He's on life support for Christ's sake!"

"I know that, but—"

Bella felt a headache coming on. She didn't have the energy to join in berating Emmett, as ridiculous as this was; between trying to get comfortable on the couch, listening for suspicious noises and making sure Masen didn't fall onto the floor, she had barely slept.

She really hated listening to them argue anyway, as seldom as it happened. She twisted her hair into a make-shift ponytail and moved it away from her neck; it was really warm in there for some reason. Suddenly something moved just outside her line of vision; she looked, but there was nothing there but Edward. The argument on the other side of the room – which Jasper had now joined in on – faded to the back of her mind as she moved to the bedside. Nothing had changed; he was still just laying there, his head tilted to the side, hair damp and clinging darkly to his neck. One arm was draped over his middle, the other hung over the side of the bed. But something was different. Bella bent closer. His lips were moving, silently, rushing through words that she couldn't hear.

"Edward?" she whispered.

No response. Bella sat down in the chair next to the bed and reached out, brushing his hair away from his face.

"Ed, it's me," she tried again, a little louder. "Can you hear me?"

His head rocked back on the pillow and his eyes flickered back and forth behind closed lids. Then the eyes popped open. Bella had just enough time to realize what was wrong with them, and then Edward's left hand shot up and wrapped itself around her throat. Bella gasped and staggered back, her hands going up to pull and tear at the arm holding her. The argument stopped, and curses flew back and forth across the room. In the next moment, Emmett was at her side, wrenching the claw-like arm away from Bella. But the arm didn't let up easily; the fingers contracted as Emmett pulled it away, leaving two long scratches in Bella's neck. She fell to the floor and covered her neck with her hand. Edward was thrashing on the bed and making horrible, unnatural noises, like some kind of giant, squawking bird choking to death. Emmett and Jasper were both holding him down, getting scratched and beaten in the process.

"Carlisle!" Emmett yelled. "Get her out of here!'

Carlisle hesitated a fraction of a second, then hauled Bella back to her feet and hustled her out the door.

"Wait," Bella muttered, "Wait, what's going on?"


	8. Chapter 8

Carlisle gave her a half-hearted explanation and mumbled apology, then shoved her outside and shut the door. Bella stood there, dazed, until one of the nurses came by and escorted her back to the waiting room, taking a small detour to patch up the scratch on her neck. She barely noticed where she was going. All she could see were Edward's blank, white eyes in front of her the whole time.

Working together, Carlisle, Emmett and Jasper had managed to tie Edward's wrists and ankles to the bed frame using strips of the bed sheets. Now they sat silently around the bed, still, but surrounded by bits of metal and plastic debris that had been knocked loose during the incident. Edward was perfectly still, eyes closed again, as if he had never woken up at all. Jasper and Emmett had just taken turns explaining what had happened in Port Angeles to Carlisle; Emmett had hoped he wouldn't have to involve any one else in the family, but this was out of his hands now.

"Okay," said Jasper, "I think we might have to look at another possibility now."

"Like what?" Emmett asked him.

"Well, you know how we said this 'second ghost' is what's controlling him now?"

"Yeah."

"It might not be a ghost. It might be a demon."

Carlisle stifled a laugh; it wasn't that he didn't believe it, it was just a little hard to swallow in one go.

"A demon?" he asked. "How do you know that?"

"Well, I don't know," said Jasper, "But take a look at this here." He pulled out his shiny black instrument again. There wasn't much to it – just a couple of buttons, a tiny speaker and a low-tech greenish screen with a series of numbers on it. Jasper gestured for the boys to come over and look at it. "These are all vibrations," he explained, indicating the rows of numbers, "Spiritual vibrations. The top reading is one I did on myself this morning, just for comparative purposes. This one," he indicated the second series of numbers, "Is what I just took from Edward, before he went nuts. Every vibration indicates a particular presence in the room. They're broken up into sections of four, but this first one is the most important. Look at this," he pointed out the first segment in the first vibration. It read 7851. "That's a normal series for a human vibration. But this one," he pointed to the second vibration, 3422, "Is much lower."

"So, what does that mean?" asked Emmett.

"The lower the vibration, the further removed from the mortal plane this thing is. A ghost is a little lower, usually around five thousand, sometimes six depending on how long they've been dead. That's because they were human at one time – they're still closer. Mine is actually a little lower than normal because I work in this field so much. My old girlfriend was a psychic, and hers was about a seven thousand even."

"So what would a 'normal' human reading look like?" asked Carlisle.

Jasper held down a button on the side of the device and waved it up and down in front of Carlisle. It made the same buzzing, beeping noise as before. Then he glanced at the little screen, made a satisfied noise and handed it to Carlisle. The reading was 8450.

"Huh," said Carlisle.

Emmett leaned over to see.

"So," he said slowly, "I guess anything around four thousand or lower is. . ."

"Something entirely different," said Jasper.

Emmett and Carlisle looked over at Edward. Carlisle felt a wave of cold run through him; he had tried not to notice before, but even looking at Edward he could tell there was something wrong.

"So here's my idea:" said Jasper, "Why don't you show me how to get to that condo of yours, and I'll take a few more readings and see what I can find out."

"You want me to go with you?"

"That would be better. You can show me which rooms had the most problems, so I don't miss anything."

"Okay."

"What about Bella?" asked Carlisle. "What are we going to tell her?"

"I'd say tell her the truth," said Jasper. "I mean, it's really up to you guys, but it seems like hiding all this didn't help much last time, right?"

Emmett sighed.

"Okay," he said. "Carlisle, can you tell her? I really don't want to deal with this right now."

"Sure."

Carlisle went back to the waiting room. Bella got up and went over to him the minute she saw him. She was shaking and her neck was bandaged. She reached out for him; Carlisle took her by the shoulders and sat her down again, telling her to calm down.

"What happened in there?" she asked.

"We're not sure," he said. "It's sort of . . . complicated. I mean, I don't really believe it myself. It's uh. . ."

"Carlisle, stop it. Just tell me what you know, okay?"

Carlisle took a deep breath.

"Well," he said, "He's sleeping again now. And he knocked some things over, but I think everyone's okay. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine – you're not answering me, Carlisle."

"I don't really know what to say – I feel like if I just tell you what Jasper told us, you wouldn't believe it."

"I saw his eyes. Please, just tell me the truth."

Carlisle sighed and turned away from her. He didn't say anything for a few minutes.

Bella waited.

"Okay," he said. "What Jasper has been saying – and Emmett seems to agree with him – is that Edward's . . . possessed. By some kind of demon."

Bella sat back in her seat and looked at him.

"I know," said Carlisle. "It doesn't make any sense, but—"

"No, it makes perfect sense." Bella rubbed at her neck thoughtfully. "It's just. . . Well, there's no other way to explain it, is there?"

Carlisle reached over to put an arm around her. She moved closer to him, but she was rigid.

"So, what do we do?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"We have to tell our mom and dad something."

"I know. I think Emmett's leaning towards food poisoning."

Bella burst out laughing and sat up.

"What?" she asked.

"He has some story about the two of them going fishing and then not cooking properly or something – it's the best he could come up with."

They both laughed and Carlisle just shook his head.

"Do you think they'll believe that?" asked Bella, "I mean, he's already been in there a week. If he doesn't wake up, then. . ."

The laughter stopped.

"Well. . ." said Carlisle. "Do you think they'd believe _this_?"

Bella shook her head.

"Carlisle?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to go home."

"Okay."

"Wait for me – I'll go get Masen."


	9. Chapter 9

Jasper sat in the passenger's seat in the car, flipping through notes and print outs that he'd prepared, as Emmett drove them back to the condo. It was the day after Edward's fit, and nothing new had happened since then.

"This is a really strange case," said Jasper, frowning at one of the papers. "I have to admit, I've never seen anything quite like this before."

"Is that bad?" asked Emmett.

"Not necessarily. It just means I might have to improvise a little."

"What's so strange about it? I mean, it's pretty weird to me anyway, but—"

"Well demonic possessions usually work a little differently than this. The beginning is pretty standard, and so was that episode in the hospital, but everything else is. . . Well, let me put it this way: he shouldn't be sleeping so much. He should be thrashing around and fighting like that the whole time. That's what happens when two souls are fighting over the same territory."

"Hang on. . . What are you saying? That there's more than one of them in there?"

"No, there's only one demon, but _Edward _should be fighting her for the body. And he isn't. And I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I only picked up one vibration in that room."

Emmett frowned.

"So he's gone?" he asked. "Completely?"

"Not completely – that's the weirdest thing. He did come back and fight exactly once, but all the times when the body is just lying there, it's just the demon. I can't figure it out. . . She should have done something with him by now. It's almost like she's waiting for something."

"Like what?"

"I have no idea."

Emmett turned onto Windsor Road and drove past the movie theater on the right. He glanced over at it, thinking.

"I wish we could talk to Rose again," he said. "She was starting to remember some things before she disappeared."

"Mm. Yeah, that's too bad."

They passed the rest of the trip in quiet and Jasper put his things back in a folder.

Emmett pulled up in front of the condo. It was empty; no one had claimed it yet. He doubted anyone had even seen it, or bothered to clean up inside. Edward's car was still in the guest spot. Emmett put the car in park and cut off the engine.

"Emmett, listen," said Jasper. "What I'm trying to tell you is that even if we get rid of this thing, there's a possibility that Edward won't be there afterwards." Emmett looked at him.

"I can get rid of her, maybe, but if he's really gone I can't bring him back. Do you understand me?"

Emmett looked ahead at the house, then down at the steering wheel. Then he nodded.

They both got out of the car and went up to the house. Emmett unlocked the front door, then hesitated.

"I haven't been back since. . ." he started to explain.

"It's okay," said Jasper. "There's probably nothing left. We're just here to pick up some psychic residue, if possible."

"Okay."

He opened the door and they went inside. The air was stale, musty. It struck Emmett as odd – he hadn't been gone that long, but the place looked like it hadn't been lived in for decades. There was a thick layer of dust covering all the flat surfaces; spots of mold and mildew darkened the corners of the carpet; water stains ran down the walls in yellowish streaks, and the wallpaper was limp and peeling; everywhere the smell of decay from the guestroom leaked out, permeating the house like a distant memory.

Jasper marched straight into the house undaunted, brandishing his little beeping instrument in front of him and pointing it at various things as he went.

"Um," said Emmett, "Alice said the basement and the guestroom were the places where the uh . . . presence was strongest."

Jasper whirled around.

"Alice Brandon?" he asked.

Emmett just looked at him.

"You know her?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah, of course! She has really short dark hair and green eyes?"

"Yeah."

"That's the girl I was telling you about yesterday, the psychic. I bet she handled this case, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did. But she bolted, for some reason. Wait – is this your ex-girlfriend we're talking about?"

Jasper sighed and gave him a wry smile.

"That's the one," he said. "You said she bolted – what do you mean?"

"Well, I – This was right after I found Edward, upstairs. And I freaked out, and then went back to where her booth was set up, but she was gone. No sign of her – not even a phone number, or a note or anything."

Jasper laughed.

"Sounds like her. Wow. . . I bet she's the one that sent in the report."

"What report?"

"This one." Jasper held up his folder. "I can't figure why she'd send it anonymously though." He shrugged and turned back to the basement door. "Well, we can worry about that later. The basement and the guestroom, huh?"

"Yeah, and I think there might be something in the kitchen too, because I saw. . .

Well, that's the last place I saw him alive."

Jasper nodded.

"Don't worry," he said, "We'll figure this out."

He went into the basement, brandishing his black instrument like a talisman. It buzzed and beeped reassuringly as he swept it down the stairs, over the wood floor and the sofa, around the still half-packed boxed of record albums and CDs; and all the while he kept looking at the screen, pulling out his notepad and jotting things down. Emmett followed him hesitantly, keeping a little way behind him and peering over his shoulder.

"What is that thing, exactly?"

"It picks up spiritual vibrations in the room – I told you that, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but how does it work?"

"Well it's just the same as any recording device – it's just set to a different frequency."

"How do you—"

Jasper held up a hand to silence him. He was looking at the recorder, which was buzzing loudly, with an uncertain expression.

"What?" asked Emmett.

Jasper knelt down on the floor, behind the couch in the middle of the room. The recorder kept buzzing, getting higher and shriller, making a noise a little like steam whistling out of a teapot. Jasper cut off the machine and got down on his hands and knees, trying to see under the couch. Then he got up.

"There's something under this," he said. "Here, help me move it."

Jasper and Emmett got on opposite sides of the couch and hauled it backward, toward the wall, and then Emmett pulled back the rug that had been lying underneath. There, directly under the place the couch had been occupying, was a dark, circular wood-burn about eighteen inches across. Emmett knit his eyebrows together and stared at it.

"Uh-huh," said Jasper, squatting down in front of the burn. "Was this here when you moved in?"

Emmett looked up at him, then down at the burn, trying to form a complete thought and failing.

"Can I take that as a no?"

"No, no – I think, uh," stammered Emmett. "Well, there was _something _here, but it wasn't this big. It was just a little spot, like this." He held up his thumb and index finger.

"Maybe all the activity just made it spread," said Jasper. He held his hand out a few inches over the surface of the burn.

"What is it?" asked Emmett.

"I think it's a gateway. Here, feel that." He waved his hand towards him, indicating for Emmett to do as he was doing. Emmett put his hand out, palm down, a little way above the floor. It was warm. "You know how you said it got hot every time Rose was around?"

"Did you say 'gateway'?"

"Yeah. This is where she got in."

"Is it okay for us to be this close?"

"Oh yeah, don't worry – it's sealed now. It's just a marker, like a signpost or something."

Jasper looked down at his recorder.

"This is the same reading I got from Edward in the hospital before," he said. "It's her, all right." He stood up and he and Emmett put the rug and couch back in their places.

"Where did she get in from?" asked Emmett. "I mean, where was she before?"

Jasper laughed dryly.

"Dude, she's a demon," he said. "Where do you think?"

Next they went up to the main level and Jasper took a reading on the burn mark on the kitchen table, with similar results. After that the only place left was the guestroom; Emmett was dreading it. The smell of rot was hovering faintly over the entire house, and he knew it would be ghastly once they went upstairs. But of course they had to – there was no way to avoid it. Emmett followed Jasper upstairs, trying not to breathe.

"I'll need to get a reading on Edward too at some point," he was saying. "Do you have anything of his lying around that I could scan?"

"Well his car's out front still."

"Oh good – perfect. We can do that on our way out."

They reached the landing, still covered in shards of broken glass from the mirror.

There was a dark, brownish stain on the carpet near the railing, where Edward's arm had been lying. Jasper stepped carefully around the glass and waved his instrument back and forth over it.

"How did this mirror get broken?" he asked, writing something down in his notepad.

"Oh, um. . . I broke it." Jasper looked up. "I was upset! I – I'd just found Edward, lying over there," he pointed toward the stain in the carpet, "And Rose was saying he was dead, and I got mad and smashed it."

"Mm."

Just then Emmett's phone rang, making them both jump. Emmett took the phone out of his back pocket, muttered "sorry" and turned away from Jasper.

"Hello?"

Jasper let him talk and wrote down his findings. He had created a chart for all the readings he'd taken so far, with names like "floor", "table" and "mirror," and on an adjacent column were all the numbers from his recorder.

"I can't really talk right now," Emmett was saying. "We're kind of in the middle of something."

In the margins next to the numbers Jasper had written other names, "Rose," and "Edward," both accompanied by question marks. He stood up and went over to the guestroom. He reached out to grab the doorknob; it was warm. He pushed the door open and peeked inside. The lights were on.

"Are you sure?" asked Emmett. "How did – wait, how did that happen?"

Jasper made a disgusted noise as the smell wafted out from the room, but he went in. The walls were caked were brownish-red gunk. Jasper pulled a tiny plastic vial out of a pocket and scraped some of the stuff into it.

"Okay," said Emmett. "Yeah, I'll be right over." He hung up. "Jasper!"

Jasper did a quick reading with his recorder and left the guestroom, shutting the door behind him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"He's awake."


	10. Chapter 10

Carlisle met Emmett in the front lobby.

"How long has he been awake?" Emmett asked.

They left the lobby and got in the elevator.

"Just a few minutes," said Carlisle.

"And everything's okay? He's not freaking out or hitting anyone?"

"No, no he seems, y'know, normal."

"Huh."

"Well he's exhausted, but I guess that's understandable after – What?"

Emmett was looking up at the numbers in the elevator a little too suspiciously.

"It just seems too easy," he said.

The elevator dinged and they walked down the hall towards Edward's room. Carlisle sighed.

"That's what I thought too," he said. "But maybe it just works like this in real life, y'know? Maybe it doesn't have to be this long drawn-out thing like they do in the movies and stuff. Hey, where's Jasper?"

"I left him at the house. He said he wanted to do some more readings or something."

"Did you tell him Edward's okay now?"

"Yeah, but he said something about doing research on the house, figuring out who lived there before Rose did – I didn't feel like arguing with him."

They reached the door and stopped. Emmett felt a cold pit of dread form like a rock in his stomach.

"Go ahead," said Carlisle. "I talked to him already, it's okay."

Emmett took a deep breath and opened the door. Edward was sitting up in bed, and Bella was at his side. They were talking in quiet voices, their faces close together, hands intertwined. They looked over when the door opened. Edward's eyes were clear, pale blue. Emmett's dread melted instantly and he rushed to the bedside, smothering his brother in a huge bear hug.

"Ow – Emmett!" said Edward. "Ow! Let go!"

Emmett held onto him just one second longer, then sat down next to the bed. His relief was welling up in the form of tears, and he wiped them away with the heel of his hand with some embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said. "I thought you were. . ."

He couldn't finish. Edward just grinned. He pushed his palms against the bed and sat up a little more. Bella reached back and adjusted his pillow for him.

"I know," he said. "I'm okay now though, I think."

"How do you feel?" asked Carlisle.

Edward sighed and stared out in front of him, searching for words.

"Weird," he said finally, with a short laugh. "I feel like I've been sleeping for like . . . three hundred years. But I'm _really _tired."

They all laughed.

"Yeah, you look tired," said Carlisle.

"What did she do to you?" asked Emmett.

"Um. . . Can we not talk about that right now?"

"Yeah, that's fine – sorry."

"It's okay."

There was a short silence. No one was really sure what to say. Bella scooted closer to Edward and rubbed at his back.

"So," said Emmett, "Are you allowed to go home now?"

"Not yet," said Bella. "They want to do some tests to make sure everything's okay first."

Edward groaned.

"It's just a precaution," Bella said sternly. "And after all this I don't blame them. I know you're tired, but this is important."

"I know," said Edward.

The tests took all of two hours to get through, and then Bella went to the reception desk to check him out. It was a perfect report – no complications, no internal injuries, and not even a scratch apart from the strange letters on Edward's arm. As he got dressed and got ready to leave the room finally, Carlisle asked if he could help.

"No," said Edward. "I got everything. Just give me a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just . . . wait for me in the lobby, I'll be right out."

"Okay."

Carlisle left, and Edward continued to get dressed. He pulled on a leather jacket that Emmett had brought for him – it was colder here than at the beach – and looked around the room for anything else he ought to bring with him. All the gifts and flowers had been packed away already, and the brown shoulder-bag he carried around sometimes was elsewhere – Emmett wouldn't let him carry it himself, still convinced he was weak as a kitten. He was probably right.

Edward moved to the dresser to go through the drawers one more time. He glanced up and caught his reflection in the mirror. He paused. He raised a hand to the glass, touching the smooth, cool surface. Then he touched his face, exploring his features with his fingertips gingerly, watching in the mirror as he did so. He traced his jaw line with a fingertip, then an eyebrow. Then his hand stilled; his eyes flickered, looking deep into the glass, as if he was trying to see behind it. Then he let out a satisfied sigh, shut the dresser drawers, and left the room. A tangle of little silver crosses, hanging from slender black cords, lay on the dresser untouched.

In what felt like no time at all, the brothers was back on their feet – with an explanation to their parents and was more or less accepted the truth being "food poisoning" – and was, for all intents and purposes, back to normal. They even started hanging out together again and the only ones with any doubt were the three brothers themselves, and of course Bella. Still, Edward seemed happy, if a little tired.

There was only one problem: Edward wasn't writing. For as long as Bella had knew Edward, he always found time to tinker on his piano and write out a song or two. Inspiration was never hard to find for him. He could find it in every facet of his life, mostly it being Bella and Masen.

Carlisle and Emmett just chalked it up to his being "in recovery" still; Bella wasn't so sure. Nothing came between Edward and his piano. Nothing. If anything, a near-death experience like the one he'd just gone through should have been enough to inspire him to write more. There were other things too, things that at first Bella was convinced were only in her imagination: a cold wind sometimes followed her around, usually at night, and usually when Edward was somewhere else; in the middle of the night she would wake up alone, and find Edward in the living room at the piano, playing very quietly, going through what seemed like every song he'd ever written; she heard voices, whispering, saying things she couldn't quite hear but almost sounded like her name; Masen wouldn't let Edward hold him, and when he tried to the baby would kick and scream until Bella took him away. Nothing happened, really, and if it had just been the two of them Bella would have been able to convince herself it was nothing. With the baby it was different. One day she finally sat down in the kitchen, at the table with the phone on it, called Emmett and told him what was happening.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he was saying. "Probably just some . . . I dunno, residual weirdness from the haunting. He'll be fine."

"The possession, you mean."

"Whatever – same thing."

"He's not writing though – not a single word, not a single note. Don't you think that's weird?"

"I. . ."

"Emmett, when's the last time you talked to Jasper?"

"I dunno. . . A while."

"Emmett?"

"Since the hospital, I think."

"Why haven't you talked to him?"

"Look, everything's finally getting back to normal. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Bella took a deep breath and said a silent prayer to keep herself from biting the guy's head off.

"Emmett, listen to me," she said. "He doesn't wear those crosses anymore. I can't find them anywhere."

There was a pause on the other line.

"Really?"

"Yes. And Masen won't let him hold him – something is still going on."

"Oh. . ."

"Yeah. So will you do something please? Or else just give me Jasper's number, and I'll do something."

"No, I'll do it, I'll call him."

"Promise?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Bells – I just. . . I want so bad for this whole thing to just be over, and it seemed like it was."

"I know. I want it over too, but if it's not, then. . ."

"I'll call him."

"Okay. Thank you."

She hung up the phone. She stared at it for a few seconds, looking at the clutter around the low table. Then she picked it up again and dialed a different number. She fidgeted with a pen that was lying next to the Post-It notes while she waited for the other person to pick up.

"Hello?" she said finally. "Mom? Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I need you to take Masen for a little while. No, everything's okay, it's just . . . well, it's complicated. . . No, nothing like that, it—Yes, I would tell you. . . We're not fighting, I promise. It's not that. Please, can you take him for . . . maybe a week or so? Yeah. . . Okay, I'll see you then. Thank you _so _much. I love you too. Bye."

Bella sighed and hung up again, putting a hand to her forehead. She was probably over-reacting, but where the baby was concerned, she decided she'd rather be safe than sorry. It was getting cold again. Half-formed voices whispered in the air, just out of earshot. She shivered, reached up and rubbed her neck where Edward had grabbed her; the marks were almost gone now. Suddenly she noticed that her right hand, the one holding the pen, was moving. She looked down. There, in deep, jagged letters on the topmost Post-It, were two words: IM HERE. Bella dropped the pen and stood up from the table, knocking her chair to the floor.

"Bella?"

Bella spun around, her heart caught somewhere high in her throat. It was Edward, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. He frowned in concern.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No," she said, maybe a little too hastily. "No," she repeated, mustering a smile this time and picking up her chair. "I, um. . . Thought I saw a . . . bug. A spider."

Edward smiled and knit his eyebrows together. He came forward and glanced down at the floor.

"Is it gone now?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's gone," said Bella. "Sorry."

She was rubbing her hands together subconsciously. Her right hand was cold as ice. Edward reached out and took both her hands in his; his hands were warm.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, um. . . I'll come to bed in a minute. Okay?"

Edward frowned, but he let go of her.

"Okay," he said.

He leaned in to kiss her; she turned her head so that he kissed her cheek instead.

He gave her a puzzled a look, but he left without asking anything further. Bella didn't follow him to bed. She grabbed a blanket from the den and headed for Masen's room, curling up and sleeping in a chair next to the crib. The cold wind stayed with her the whole night.


	11. Chapter 11

Emmett had been ignoring Jasper's calls. He'd been trying to get in touch for days, saying he had some things to show him, but Emmett just kept "forgetting" to return the messages. When he finally did call back, Jasper was more than a little indignant about it.

"I don't take cases like this all that often," Jasper said. "They take up a lot of time and energy, and I never, ever get involved unless I'm convinced the other party is serious about it. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

"I'm sorry!" said Emmett. "I just, I really wanted to believe it was all over. Y'know? I want my brother back. And you said you couldn't make that happen, and then he _was _back, and. . ." He trailed off, covering his mouth so that Jasper wouldn't hear him sobbing.

"Okay," said Jasper. "Calm down, don't freak out on me. I understand, believe me. I just didn't think you'd hit the denial stage this late in the game."

He waited. Emmett took a few deep breaths.

"You okay?" asked Jasper.

"Yeah."

"Okay enough to meet with me sometime soon? Like in twenty minutes?"

"What?"

"I have some information for you. Are you still in New York?"

"Yeah."

"Good, then get a cab or something and meet me at Rockefeller – I want to show you something."

It took Emmett all of five minutes to decide he really wanted to meet Jasper, and in almost twice that time he was waiting at one of the benches outside Rockefeller Center.

Jasper found him moments after he arrived. Without a word he sat down beside Emmett and handed him a computer print-out of an old newspaper article from Lake Crescent. There was a picture with a caption reading, "Huxleys Take First Condo in Windsor Road Community." The picture showed a family of three: a mother, a father, and a girl with long blonde hair. Emmett's heart skipped a beat.

"That her?" asked Jasper.

"Where did you get this?"

Jasper took the page back from him.

"This is the Huxleys," he said. "They were the first family to move into the community where your condo is, about twelve years ago. This is Rose, and her parents Robert and Jody," he pointed to the three of them in turn, "But somehow, tragically, all three of them died in a house fire a little more than a week after they moved in."

"Really?"

"Yep. And guess where it started?"

"Where?"

"The basement."

"Huh. . ."

"Yep."

"Wait, a second, I. . . So, this girl is the demon?"

Jasper shook his head.

"Nuh-uh," he said. "This is Rose, but she's just a little girl. The demon got in through the basement, but the whole family was already there before anything happened."

"Are you sure? I mean, she could have been some kind of . . . evil devil child or. . ."

"No – you watch too many movies. There was nothing going on in that house before the fire – no paranormal or supernatural disturbances whatsoever. None. Got that?"

"But that's what she looks like – I've seen her."

"I know that, but—"

"Well, are you sure it's a demon that's possessing Edward then?"

"Yes, I'm sure, because that's the reading I got from him."

"Well maybe that thing doesn't work right."

"There's nothing wrong with my spiritual vibration reader."

"But we _know _that it's Rose that's doing all this, whatever she is. She might just be a ghost after all, right?"

Jasper sighed heavily.

"How much longer is this going to take?" he asked. "Look, I know what I'm doing. If you don't quit interrupting me we will never get to the end of this. I do have an idea, and if you'll just shut up long enough for me to explain it, I think some of this might become a lot clearer for you."

Emmett's face flushed, but he bit his tongue and nodded.

"Okay," said Jasper. "Our good friend Alice has this theory about demonic possession. She calls it the Copycat Theory, and there are no reported cases yet of this actually happening which is why I didn't think of it sooner. What happens is the demon will take the form of someone who's already dead and wander around the house, imitating their actions perfectly. When people see that, they assume it's the ghost of whoever they're imitating, and treat them accordingly. It never works, obviously, because ghosts and demons are completely different beings."

"So, this ghost – demon, I mean – took on the form of Rose?"

"And that's why she looks like the little girl."

"Why does she do that?"

"To throw people off. It worked for us, at least for a little while. Also, the Copycat Demons do things in stages: they find a hunting ground first, scour an area to see if there's anyone dead that they can mimic effectively, and then once they take their place they lure someone inside and try to possess them. People think they're getting possessed by a ghost, and again they try to get rid of them with that in mind, and it doesn't work. The last stage is when the demon drives the original soul out of the body and takes on _their _personality and carries on their life in their place."

Emmett was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he shook his head.

"She's taking over Edward."

Jasper nodded.

"How did this happen?" Emmett asked. "God, she knows _everything _– when we sit around and talk, she can bring up anything from our past. . ."

Jasper shrugged.

"She kept him unconscious for a long time. There's no way to prove this, but my guess is she was absorbing all his memories. You know, to make everything believable. The biggest tip-off is the baby – they're always more attuned to the spirit world, before they get told they're imagining things and stop believing it."

"You mean Masen?"

"Yeah. He can see her, I bet. That and the fact that he's not writing anymore, because the demon doesn't have that creative spirit – she can't create anything."

"There's something I still don't get though," said Emmett. "Why did she pick Edward instead of me? Since she 'lured' me there without any trouble, it would've been just as easy, right?"

Jasper held up a finger and dug around in his backpack, pulling out his legal pad with all the numbers on it. He handed it to Emmett; in addition to the "Rose" and "Vicky columns – which he'd now scratched out and replaced with a huge question mark – there was a column for "Edward." The sets of numbers were fairly random-looking, at least to Emmett, except for one thing: The second set of four, right after the initial digits indicating whether the presence was demonic or human, was identical for all three of them.

"What does this second number mean?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Jasper. "That's the only one I haven't been able to figure out. And it's really frustrating because it obviously means something – the demon saw that and used it to her advantage somehow. The demon, and Rose, and your brother all have something in common on the ethereal plane. I just don't know what."

"So, what now? How do we get rid of her?"

Jasper leaned back and took a deep breath.

"Well," he said, "There are a couple different ways to go about it. The first is a traditional exorcism, with a priest and a cross and holy water and all that – the whole nine yards. But that would a really high-profile job – it would tough to cover it up, in other words. I don't know what you'd tell the press. Exorcisms like that can be unpredictable."

"Okay. . . What's the second option?"

"Well, you could, um. . ."

"What?"

Jasper was shifting in his seat.

"I don't think you'd like it," he said.

"Just tell me. I want to know what we're dealing with here."

"Okay, well. . . You _could _destroy the body. That would make it impossible for the demon to stay there, and she'd have to move on to someone else."

"You mean kill him?"

"I told you you wouldn't like it."

"Is that the only other option we have?"

"Not exactly. I'm assuming you want to get Edward back at some point, right?"

"Well. . . Yeah, of course, but you said you couldn't do that. You said you couldn't bring him back if he was really gone."

"Yeah, well, _I _can't. But I know someone who might be able to."

Emmett's eyes widened as a realization dawned on him.

"Alice?"

Jasper nodded.

"Alice," he repeated.

"But she ran off somewhere," said Emmett. "I have no idea how to reach her."

"You leave that to me. In the meantime, I need you to get some things together for me – we'll have to do a séance, but we need to make sure the demon doesn't find out about it."

He told Emmett what he needed to bring with him, and who, and when.

"Can you do all that?" he asked.

"Yeah. No problem."

"Great."

"So, what about Alice?"

"I'll worry about Alice – you go do what I said. I'll see you later."


	12. Chapter 12

Bella looked down at the instructions Emmett had given her. This wasn't going to be easy. She checked her watch: 11:36. She would have to hurry. She walked softly to the bedroom, turned the doorknob and tip-toed inside. It was pitch dark. Edward had pulled the blinds down. Bella wondered if he was really asleep. If he was really a . . . well, not human at any rate, she wasn't sure he needed to. But he seemed not to notice her. She tightened the belt around her bathrobe; she was wearing regular clothes underneath, but if he woke up she didn't want him to suspect anything. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness; she could see Edward lying on his side, his face obscured by his hair on one side and by the pillow on the other. He was so still Bella couldn't see him breathing. Bella took a deep breath and crept closer to the bedside. She sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, carefully so she wouldn't wake him, and pulled the scissors out of the pocket of her bathrobe. She reached out with her left hand first, and touched his hair. It took her back for a second, touching him like that; she could almost pretend that nothing had changed, that he would wake up at her touch, and smile, and grab her other hand to pull her down into bed next to him. And then he would slide his arm under her and pull her close, and kiss her. But he stayed still. Bella curled her fingers around his hair, then moved in with the scissors, snipping off a lock about two inches long. She slipped the scissors back into her robe, along with the hair, and stood up again. She moved to the door and glanced back exactly once to make sure he hadn't woken up. He was still on his side; he hadn't moved an inch. But there was a strange glow hovering near the pillow.

Bella strained to see in the darkness; his eyes were open. They were white, and he was looking at her. Bella froze.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

He still hadn't moved.

"I. . ." she started.

He sat up. Bella jumped.

"You took the baby somewhere," he said. It wasn't a question.

Bella backed up a little.

"I—I just thought it would be better if he weren't around while. . ."

"While what?"

He pulled the sheets aside and got out of the bed. Bella moved backward and grabbed the doorknob. His eyes were glowing.

"While I'm still possessed?" he asked. "Is that what you're thinking?"

A narrow beam of light fell on him from the hallway. His hands were clenched into fists. They were smoking. Bella backed up into the hallway. Edward followed her, pale eyes blazing like beacons in a lighthouse.

"Where did you take the baby?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said.

"You're such a bad liar, Bella."

Bella spun around and ran down the hallway towards the front door. He caught up to her easily, grabbing the edge of her robe and pulling her toward him. Bella cried out; he pushed her against the wall and put his arms on either side of her, blocking her way.

"You think I don't know what's going on here?" he said. "You're trying to get him back. It won't work."

"Let me go!" she yelled, and she shoved his chest with all the strength she could muster.

Edward stumbled back, surprised, and Bella ducked under his arm and made a beeline for the door. She threw it open and ran outside, straight to the car. The keys were already in her pocket; she was that prepared at least. Her hands shook as she tried to fit the key in the lock and get the door open. Edward came out the front door after her; Bella glanced up. He was moving slowly but he was getting closer. Finally she pulled the door open and turned the engine on, hitting the accelerator on full with her bedroom slippers. She didn't look back.

She barely saw where she was going. She was freezing, but her hands seemed to turn the wheel on their own, guiding her without her even noticing. Every traffic light was green. Just ten minutes later she had reached her destination: a brick high-rise apartment building just outside their subdivision. She somehow found a place for the car and got upstairs. The next things she knew, she was outside Carlisle's room, pounding on the door with an open palm.

"Carlisle!" she called. "Carlisle, it's me – let me in!"

It was only a few seconds before Carlisle came to the door. Bella dove inside and threw herself in his arms, shaking.

"Bells, what—?" he started.

She backed away from him a little.

"He knows," she said.

"What?"

"He knows! Him – Edward. He knows what we're doing. I don't know how he found out, but. . ." She stopped and clamped a hand to her mouth.

"Oh God. . ." said Carlisle. "Um. . . Listen, it's okay. We're taking caring of all this now. All right? That's why we're here. Come on, Bella. Just calm down."

He led her over to the round table in the middle of the room. Alice was there already, drawing over the surface of the table with white chalk. She was making a circular pattern of strange letters and symbols. A ratty purple shawl was draped over the back of her chair. She looked up and smiled, then dusted the chalk off her hands to shake Bella's hand as Carlisle introduced them.

"Nice to meet you," said Bella.

Alice nodded. Then she looked down at Bella's hand.

"What?" Bella asked.

Alice let go of her and smiled faintly.

"You're cold," she said.

Bella took her hand back and stuffed them both into the pockets of her robe.

"Yeah," she said. "Something's been following me. I don't know what—"

"It's okay," said Alice. "The cold wind won't hurt you. You don't have to be afraid."

Then she turned back to her drawing. Bella, unsure of what to make of that, turned back to Carlisle.

"Where's Emmett?" she asked.

"Not here yet. He's on his way." He looked up and gestured to the back of the room. "You remember Jasper?"

"Hey!" said Jasper, coming forward. He had been sorting through what looked like tiny wooden tiles in a plastic bag. He hopped up from the couch he'd been sitting on, leaving the bag, and came over to the others.

"Hi," said Bella. "Listen, I'm sorry that we were so . . . I guess, rude to you before. It's just, I'm not used to . . . actually believing these kind of things."

Jasper waved the notion away.

"Ah, don't worry about it," he said. "It happens. No hard feelings. Did I hear you say our demon found out about this little séance?"

"Yeah. I don't know how, he must've read my mind or something. Is that bad?"

"Well, it's not good."

"Jazz, don't scare her," said Alice, putting her chalk away inside a brown satchel. She turned to Bella. "We have ways of keeping him out, if he's found out where we are. So don't worry about anything – he didn't even follow you."

"Are you sure?"

Alice nodded. Just then another knock came at the door. It was Emmett. He came in with a paper bag from the twenty-four hour market down the street. He went to the table and starting pulling things out of the bag and setting them down in the center, being careful not to disturb the chalk drawing around the edge.

"Sorry it took me so long," he said. "The girl in front of me had like eight million coupons and forgot about them until the last minute."

He pulled out a canister of sea salt, which Alice took from him and began sprinkling over the floor in a wide circle around the table. Next he handed Jasper a thick white candle.

"Beeswax?" Jasper asked.

"Yep. That's what it said, anyway."

"Okay, that'll do."

Jasper set the candle in the middle of the table and got a book of matches out of his back pocket. He glanced at his watch.

"Angie," he said, "We better get started."

Alice finished making her circle of salt, then stood up and clapped the lid back on the container.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"About two minutes 'til."

"Okay."

Alice waved everyone over to the table and gestured for them to sit down while Jasper grabbed the bag of tiles from the back of the room. He opened it and dumped them out in front of Alice, carefully so none would fall to the floor. Emmett looked at the tiles and frowned.

"Are those . . . Scrabble letters?" he asked.

"Yep," said Jasper. "You'll see." He struck a match and lit the beeswax candle.

Alice shaped the letters into a neat little pile in front of her.

"Bella," she said. "Do you have the hair?"

"Oh, right," said Bella. She fished the lock of hair out of her pocket and handed it to Alice.

Alice wound the hair around her index finger and placed both hands palm-up on the table.

"Everyone put your hands like this," she said. "Palm-up. Look at the flame and concentrate on Edward's name – his full name."

"Should I turn the lights out?" asked Emmett.

"If you want. It might make it easier to concentrate."

Emmett got up and shut the lights off. The five of them spaced themselves evenly around the table and put their hands up the way Alice had told them to. In the dark it was difficult to see anything but the candle in the center. Carlisle cleared his throat.

"How long will it take too—" he started, but Alice shushed him.

The room went quiet. Only a slight shuffle now and then broke the silence. The candle flame glowed brightly, and as they each stared it created the illusion that the darkness was deepening in contrast. Emmett shifted a little in his seat; this felt uncomfortably familiar. This was just what Edward had done, just before Rose – or whoever – had taken him. He trusted Alice, but he couldn't stop seeing the demon in his mind's eye; he couldn't shake the image of the yellow hair, and the dead, burned hands, and Edward's sleeping body disappearing into the darkness. He blinked, shook his head, and tried to focus. He repeated the name over and over, _Edward Anthony Cullen_, until his lips started moving with it.

Bella could feel the scissors sticking her thigh through the fabric of her bathrobe. She had meant to take it off, but she was still cold. Actually it was getting colder by the minute. She bit her lip to stop her teeth from chattering and stared at the candle, trying to ignore the icy wind. Alice _had _said it wouldn't hurt her. Maybe it wasn't the demon; Emmett had said it usually got hot around her, after all. She really wanted to move those scissors though; she was just afraid she'd upset the séance if she took her hands away.

Carlisle didn't know what to make of any of this. He'd seen too much evidence to the contrary to think that this was all a hoax, but it was difficult for him to focus on the candle. He kept either nodding off or looking over at Alice, trying to figure out whether or not they'd achieved whatever it was they were waiting for. Alice's eyes, when he happened to look over at them, were greenish and highly reflective, like a cat's. She was moving her thumb back and forth over the lock of hair wrapped around her index finger.

_She's got him wrapped around her finger_, he thought. It would have been funny, in another context. Suddenly, the cat eyes slid shut. Alice's hand opened; the hair burst into flame and disappeared.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: This is the last Chapter of this story, folks but have no fear! I'm going to start uploading the continuation tomorrow! And it's complete, yay! So you'll only have to wait a day or two at the most for the other complete continuation! Enjoy and PLEASE review!

* * *

The lights were on again and the candle had burned itself out. Everyone was sitting around the table, watching Alice, who still had her eyes closed. Her mouth was moving, speaking silently. One hand was fingering the lettered tiles in front of her. The whole room was freezing cold.

"What just happened?" asked Emmett.

"Shh!" hissed Carlisle.

"No, it's okay," said Jasper. "We made contact." He had gone back to the couch to grab his legal pad and a pen.

"We don't have to stay quiet?" asked Bella.

"Nope. We just have to wait for him to start talking. Angie will interpret for us."

Alice grabbed a handful of letters and, without looking at them, began picking them out one by one and laying them out on the table.

"Is he here?" Bella asked.

"Mm-hm," said Jasper. He was looking at the letters and jotting them down in his legal pad.

Bella, Carlisle and Emmett all looked at each other, then leaned over to see what he was writing. Alice had laid out all her letters and was fishing more out of the pile.

"What is this?" asked Carlisle.

"Just wait," said Jasper, as he continued scribbling.

Alice grabbed another handful of lettered tiles and paused, her head cocked to the side as if she was listening. Jasper had one word written on the pad in front of him:

"B-E-L-L-A."

"Me?" asked Bella.

"He's just trying to get your attention," said Jasper.

"Where is he?"

Alice picked through the letters and started lining them up again. Jasper watched and wrote them down; the others waited. "B-E-S-I-D-E Y-O-U," was what it said. Bella stared at the letters. Then she became aware of the cold condensing, getting heavier, right above her right shoulder. It never quite solidified, but she could almost feel the shape of icy fingers pressing through her bathrobe. She reached up and put her hand on her shoulder; nothing but cold air. But the ghostly hand seemed to tighten at her touch.

Bella breath quickened; something warm and heavy welled up inside her, tightening her throat. She didn't notice the others watching her.

"Don't be afraid," said Jasper.

Bella took a deep, steadying breath.

"I'm not," she said.

Emmett reached over and put his hand over her free arm. She smiled.

"Can he hear us?" he asked.

More tiles flipped though Alice's pale fingers; "Y-E-S."

"Edward," said Carlisle. "What happened? Where are you?"

They waited; tiles clicked softly over the wooden table; Jasper's pen swished and scribbled over the yellow paper. "H-E-L-L."

"What?" asked Emmett.

"That's not possible," said Bella. "How could he be in Hell?"

More tiles. "W-O-R-K-I-N-G O-N T-H-A-T."

Carlisle scoffed.

"Well, we know it's him anyway," he said.

The tiles came down again. "R-O-S-A-L-I-E."

All of them stared at the word in confusion.

"What does that mean?" asked Carlisle. "Who's Rosalie?"

Tiles. "G-I-R-L I-N W-H-I-T-E D-R-E-S-S."

"No," said Emmett. "That was Rose. Wasn't it?"

Tiles. "F-I-R-E D-E-M-O-N. N-O-T R-O-S-E."

"Maybe that's her real name," suggested Jasper.

"You think so?" asked Carlisle.

"What do you know about fire demons?" asked Emmett.

"Not much," said Jasper. "But you-know-who is definitely one of them, judging by the house fire alone."

"Ed, what do you want us to do?" asked Carlisle.

Tiles. "K-I-L-L H-E-R."

A heavy silence fell over the room; Alice's hand hovered over the tiles, waiting.

Jasper glanced up at Emmett.

"I think he means he wants you to—"

"I know what he meant," Emmett snapped.

"What's going on?" asked Bella.

Emmett turned to her.

"If we kill him," he said, "Then he can't come back. That's what he wants us to do."

"But—"

More tiles clacked down on the tabletop. "D-O-E-S-N-T M-A-T-T-E-R. K-E-E-P F-A-M-I-L-Y S-A-F-E."

Emmett sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Emmett," said Bella, "What's going on? What do you mean he can't come back?"

Emmett was looking at Jasper.

"This was our last option," he was saying. "You said this would work!"

"No I didn't," said Jasper. "I said it _might _work. And nobody, not even Angie, can make him come back – we can just make contact."

Bella looked across the table at Carlisle. He just shook his head, looking as puzzled and lost as she felt.

"But I thought that's what making contact meant," said Emmett, his voice rising.

"Emmett, calm down," said Carlisle.

"No," said Jasper, "Making contact meets we get to talk to him and his presence is here in the room, but he's still bound to . . . well, whatever realm he's in."

"So he's stuck in Hell?" asked Emmett. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"Would someone please explain what's going on here?" said Bella.

Jasper held his hand up to get Emmett to quiet down.

"Just hang on a second," he said. He turned to Bella. "What I told him," he pointed to Emmett, "Was that we only had three ways to get rid of this demon – Rosalie, if that's her name – and one of them was this séance. What we're trying to do now is get in touch with Edward – which we did – and then try to get him to take his body back. But if he's in Hell, he can't do that."

"He's _not _in—"

"Emmett – shh!" hissed Carlisle.

"Thank you," said Jasper. He turned back to Bella. "One of the other options was to destroy the body completely – kill him, in other words – and it looks like that's what Edward wants us to do. We won't bring him back that way, but we'll get rid of Rosalie."

Bella looked from one to the other of them; Emmett looked resigned. He was still holding her arm, but he had his other hand to his forehead. Carlisle kept his face totally blank; Bella couldn't guess what he was thinking.

"Isn't there anything else you can do?" asked Bella.

"We could exorcise him," said Jasper. "But that wouldn't bring Edward back either."

Alice's hand dived into the tiles and started laying them out again. The others waited.

"S-T-O-P A-R-G-U-I-N-G. K-I-L-L H-E-R. N-O O-T-H-E-R W-A-Y."

"But Edward," said Bella, "If we do that, you can't come back."

"C-A-N-T C-O-M-E B-A-C-K A-N-Y-W-A-Y."

Jasper glanced in Emmett's direction, but wisely didn't say anything. Bella bit her lip and stared at the pile of tiles, trying not to cry. More tiles lined up.

"G-O-I-N-G N-O-W. S-O-R-R-Y. L-O-V-E Y-O-U."

Alice blinked. She let out a satisfied breath then looked over at Jasper.

"Well?" she asked.

He gave her a half-hearted smile and just shook his head.

"That was it?" asked Carlisle. "He's gone now?"

"I'm afraid so," said Alice. "He can't stay after sunrise, he said."

"Sunrise?" asked Emmett. "What time is it?"

"It's almost five," said Jasper. He was clearing away the tiles and scooping them back into the plastic bag.

Emmett looked down at the candle; it had burned three quarters of the way down.

They'd been in that room for almost five hours. Everyone was moving now, shuffling around and stretching. Bella stayed in her seat. Alice stood up, took the candle and handed it to her.

"You keep this," she said. "And if the demon approaches you, surround it with a circle of salt and light it. She won't be able to touch you then."

Bella took the candle somewhat gingerly, looking at it as if it was a Jack-in-the-Box about to jump out at her.

"So that's what the salt was for?" asked Carlisle.

"Yep," said Jasper. "And it's still working, as far as I can tell. You won't need that thing for long, though," he told Bella. "We're going to get that demon out very, very soon, whatever it takes. Right guys?"

Emmett looked at him for a while, not saying anything, then just shook his head and walked away. Carlisle went over to Jasper and asked to speak to him alone for a minute.

Bella curled up in her seat, holding the candle to her chest, and cried quietly. Alice went over to Emmett. He had his arms crossed, leaning against the wall near the door. Alice put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Emmett?" she said. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

He kept his arms crossed, but he turned to face her.

"For what?" he asked.

"For running off the way I did, without any explanation. I had my reasons, and if I had the option of doing it over I wouldn't have changed anything, but I know it put a good deal of strain on you and your family. So I'm sorry for that."

Emmett shifted his wait and nodded.

"What reasons?" he asked.

"Well, when I went to your house that first time, I knew that Edward was already too far gone to bring him back. But I didn't want to alarm you, so I left Port Angeles to make up a report about the haunting for Jasper. I wanted to get him involved as quickly as possible; he's much better at research and forensics than I am. And I knew you'd find him if I left you alone for a while."

"Why didn't you just call him yourself?"

Alice laughed softly.

"Well. . . Jasper and I have a . . . history together. I wasn't entirely sure he'd be willing to take the case if he knew I'd already been involved. He puts too much faith in me – if he'd known I'd looked at the information and been unable to solve it, he may have decided it was impossible."

"Hm."

Emmett sighed.

"Emmett?"

He looked up.

"I really am sorry. I felt it was best this way. Can you forgive me?"

"Alice, I. . ." Emmett stopped and looked away from her. "I just lost my brother. Twice. And I know it's not your fault, but I really just don't want to be near you right now. Okay?"

Alice frowned, but she nodded and went back to the table, leaving him by the door. She bent over and said something to Bella, who wiped her eyes, got up from the table and went to a little hall closet. Carlisle and Jasper finished their discussion in the back and came forward again.

"Alice," said Jasper, "We better call a priest."

Alice nodded absently. She picked up the purple shawl that had been lying over her chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. Bella returned to the table with a dustpan and a miniature broom. Alice took them from her and thanked her, setting the things on the chair.

"A priest?" asked Emmett.

"We have to, Emmett," said Carlisle. "We're running out of options here. And we can't let him – or her, or whatever – keep endangering the family."

"What are we gonna tell people?"

Carlisle threw both hands up in the air.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know anything. But we have to do this."

Alice was digging around in her brown satchel. She fished out a white rag to erase the chalk from the table, but as she lowered her hand to the wood surface, she stopped. She bent over and looked at the drawing more closely.

"Look," said Jasper, "If you want to talk this over some more, that's fine, but just remember that we don't have a lot of time left before you-know-who figures this out. She's not gonna go quietly."

"I know that," said Emmett. "But—"

"Well, listen," said Jasper, "Why don't I just give you a number, and if you decide to—"

"Wait!"

All four of them looked over at Alice. Her hand was raised and her eyes were glued to the chalk drawing.

"Wait," she repeated.

She lowered her hand and traced the edges of the chalk; some of the symbols had been disturbed and smeared.

"What do you see?" asked Jasper.

Alice's hand stopped and hovered over one of the smudges, a rune that was long and crooked like a snake.

"A staff," she said.

She moved to the right edge of the circle and stopped at the next place where the chalk was smudged. This symbol was shaped roughly like an hourglass.

"And a golden cup."

She reached a place where the chalk had been rubbed off completely, leaving nothing of the symbol. The circle was broken. Alice took her hand away and stood up.

"Something's changing."

"Is that good or bad?" asked Carlisle.

She turned towards him.

"I'm not sure. Something's happened. . . Something that's supposed to be impossible."

"What should we do?" asked Bella.

"Nothing. Don't do anything – and don't exorcise the demon. Just wait."

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" asked Emmett.

"I don't know. But wait." She looked at Bella. "If Edward visits you again, will you recognize him?"

"Yes," said Bella. "Of course."

"Good. In the meantime, you should all stay clear of the copycat. Get more rooms here, and don't leave until it happens."

"Until _what _happens?" asked Emmett.

"I don't know. But when it does, I will. We all will."


End file.
